More than the Price of Honor
by heza08
Summary: When Prince Zuko captures the Avatar's Waterbender, he knows he can use Katara to lure Aang to his demise. His quest to keep her, though, will give rise to a reluctant hero and set them both on a journey to change the course of destiny.
1. Possession

What can I promise about this story? It's my first on , so I'm bound to have a learning curve on figuring out mechanics and formatting. It's a token capture fic, replete with such gratuitous classics as "forced to sleep in the same bed" and "unrequited longing." All scenes will have either Katara or Zuko in them, and if it's just the one, they'll be thinking about the other. It will skip over unimportant scenes so as to get to the "good stuff" faster, thus taking on a slightly one-shot feel. Creative license might be taken, and it will have an overall heroic, romance-style theme meant for more mature readers. The ending will be bittersweet.

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Chapter 1 – Possession

KATARA

There were too many. Every time I raised a wave against a volley of their fire, another attack of churning flame was on its heel. Water hissed into steam where our fighting met, and I leeched the water back out of the humid air to cascade toward the group advancing on my right. Eventually, I staggered. My shining shields, with the width and strength of well-lain masonry, became as ephemeral as sudden, summer showers. My mighty water whips were flicks of dew. Another fireball leapt through my last weakening wave, and I threw myself backward, panting. My lungs burned as I choked on the heat in the air. Now, the fire benders I had so bravely held back crowded around me, several holding fire in their palms that lit hard glints of malice in their sea of amber eyes. I jutted my chin out at them. If this was how it would end, then I would not show fear, not for these fire bending devils.

"Enough!"

All trace of fire vanished and the benders parted like smoke for the approaching warrior, his ponytail swaying in time with his determined stride. "I want her alive." Prince Zuko stalked toward me, and I summoned just enough energy to bring up the water soaking the grass between us. Zuko's red scar wavered through the shimmering view until a clean line of brightness parted my curtain, slicing like a hot knife through soft cheese. Disheartened, I let the water fall back to the earth, watching it disappear as the newly scorched ground greedily sucked it up. Zuko towered over me, and I flinched when he grabbed my upper arm and dragged me to my feet, having to support me more than my pride would have liked.

"Singed, Water Bender? You should be more careful—it seems you keep falling into my clutches." His fingers dug possessively into my skin as he gloated over my capture, but then, his self-congratulating smirk suddenly turned dark. "How fortunate for you that I've never been content with consolation prizes." He shoved me toward the nearest of his men. "Bind her and take her to the ship," he ordered.

I was dutifully trussed up, my arms tied behind my back, and then prodded toward the beach where a rowboat awaited us. I stumbled into it, rushed by hands hoisting me from the shoulders of my robe. The soldiers gave the boat a shove, freeing it from the sand, and then jumbled in. The Fire Nation ship loomed against the flat, blue horizon, its massive, iron hulk growing impossibly larger as two men rowed us toward it. But I had eyes only for the patch of sky where I had last seen Appa sailing away, Aang's tight, tortured expression peering over the edge of the saddle.

It had been all I could do to convince Aang to escape with Sokka, wounded by the first arrow, while I held back the fire benders. The boy had looked disconsolately between me and my brother as if trying to choose who would live and who would die. I would live, I finally made him believe, as long as the fire benders thought they could use me to lure him into a trap, but Sokka would die if we were all taken. Also, I quickly reminded him, he and Sokka, together, would be much more likely to save me while Zuko lingered here, awaiting a rescue attempt, than we would be of trying to chase him all the way to the Fire Nation, to which Zuko would surely flee the moment the Avatar was secured. Aang had seen reason, and I had given them enough time to fly away on Appa, Aang calling back a continuous stream of promises that he would be back for me soon and Sokka calling a continuous stream of curses at Aang for leaving me behind.

I had to believe that Sokka would live, that Aang would find help for him, and that they would be able to find me again without falling prey to Zuko's relentless hunt. "Please be okay," I whispered.

When we reached the ship, I was taken below deck and placed in a holding cell. It was cold and as dark as pitch. It was difficult to tell much about my surroundings, bound as I was, and the only thing I was certain of was the echoing deadness of the metal as I clanged about and a small bunk against one wall, where I collapsed. In the darkness, fear engulfed me, giving fearsome form and feature to every invisible noise. Without my friends, with no fire benders to bolster my contempt, I cowered in the darkness, my head whipping right and left every time I felt a phantom brush on my face or thought I saw the spark of light in my peripheral vision, and I waited for whatever would come next.

I did not wait long.

With a groaning sigh, the door to my cell swung inward, revealing the gloomy, subtle light of oil lamps beyond, and a lone figure entered, shutting the door behind him. As a small flame lit in his hand, Zuko stared down at me. I rolled my eyes with more courage than I actually felt.

"What do you want?" I demanded.

Zuko's mouth pursed and his voice sounded raw and tired as he responded, "Do I really need to answer that?"

_No._

Anyone who had ever encountered Zuko knew what he wanted. I turned away in passive refusal. "I don't know where he is, and even if I did, you'd rot before I told you anything." I watched his wavering, flickering shadow shrug.

"It's no matter. He'll know where you are," Zuko predicted.

"Aang's not stupid; he won't come for me," I lied—not about Aang being stupid, of course, but I knew that neither he nor Sokka would leave me in the hands of the Fire Nation any longer than they could help.

Zuko barked out a mirthless laugh. "If there's one thing I know, it's that the Avatar will always come for his friends; he's sentimental like that. You'll help me capture the Avatar, Water Bender, whether you like it or not."

I turned to face him again, mock dismay etching my expression. "However will Aang see this coming?" I rolled my eyes. "Don't you think he knows what you're planning? He's too smart for you, Zuko," I taunted, my lips lacing his name with as much contempt as I could muster. I let my gaze travel the length of his tall, flame-lit form, assessing him with a smug look, "and he's a more powerful bender."

Zuko leaned over, bringing his face close to mine. His scar, the lines cast in sharp relief by the fire light, scrunched as he narrowed his eyes at me, folding like peaks and valleys on a map, a jagged range that sheltered the smoldering volcano of his amber eye. I fought to not flinch away from its hideousness and intensity.

"You have no idea what I'm capable of," he warned me in a cold, even voice that made me shiver despite the heat flaring from his hand.

Zuko clenched his fist to douse the flame, turned, and left, closing the door behind him and plunging me back into darkness. I hugged my knees to my chest and prayed that he was wrong—that Aang would not fall blindly into whatever trap Zuko was planning to involve me in and, almost as desperately, that what I had thus far seen of the twisted prince was not just a shadow of his true malice and cruelty.

I was left no water; I couldn't tell what length of time passed between my visitors, but every once in a while, someone came with a small porcelain cup and let me drink. Eventually, my binds were removed—replaced, of course, during my drinking breaks—but my newly freed arms did me little good. The Fire Benders were very cautious and thorough. I had taken down a good many of them before I had tired, and they left nothing to chance. It was a particular frustration to know that we were surrounded by an ocean I could not access for all this blasted iron.

I counted the days by how many meals I was given—I had to assume they were feeding me three times a day—and by the sounds I had learned to recognize coming from the belly of the metal beast that had swallowed me. The ship clanged and moaned as it ate up fuel and belched out flame to move its sighing, straining gears. I could hear the slow, unnatural beating of its flame-and-iron heart, the pattern of the mechanical routine in the engine room, and how it slowed during what I assume was the nighttime shift of the skeleton crew. My guards had given me a candle, unconcerned with what I might do with it—there was always a Fire Bender present when I was given food or water or allowed to take care of other necessities—and I had gone through a fair number of tapers. Three or four days had passed, I had decided, by the time I saw my captor again.

Aside from his first visit to my cell, Zuko had not bothered with me again. As far as I could tell, I was doing my part in his scheme, sitting securely in my cell and waiting for Aang to mount a rescue. I served no other purpose in Zuko's mind and was, therefore, otherwise inconsequential. While the opening of my cell had been a surprise, I wasn't taken altogether unaware. The ship had warned me something was coming. The momentum of the normal noises had stalled, everything grinding down to a halt, followed by the deep, seemingly endless _clink-clink-clink_ of the anchor being dropped. As I lay on my bunk, I heard heavy thuds from somewhere above. _Was that a gang plank?_

My senses heightened with anticipation, and I expected the guards to at least check on me, possibly replace my bindings until whatever was transpiring had passed. I hadn't, however, expected the frenzied, irate face that appeared on the other side of the flung open door to be Zuko's. I scurried to sitting, worried about what this break in routine meant.

Dispensing with any formalities or threats, Zuko latched onto my wrist, dragging me off the bunk and out the cell door. My blood ran cold as I wondered whether he had finally decided to kill me. Had his plan worked? Had Aang and Sokka attempted a rescue and been captured? My heart sank—one small water bender in exchange for the Avatar; the world had lost on that deal. I was not worth his life; I was not more important than the fate of the world. I knew that Aang and Sokka would not see it that way, though.

But as I watched Zuko, I realized that he was in a fury that had nothing to do with me. I didn't know what to expect; nevertheless, I was surprised when he threw open the door of a large cabin and shoved me inside. He followed and quickly shut the door, leaning against it as if to hold something at bay. His amber eyes glittered with rage, his good one narrowed to match the perpetual squint of the one that was scarred.

"If you value your life, don't draw attention to yourself," he advised.

Leaving me with that cryptic warning, he slipped back out into the corridor. I saw a small light through the seal of the door, and when I tried to touch the handle, I had to snatch my hand back from the heat. Whatever new cell this was, Zuko had welded me inside of it.

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More to come... Feedback appreciated, especially since I know what I like, but I'm not extremely familiar with others' tastes in the 'ship. I'd be interested in what other people might want to see between them.


	2. Misdirection

I hadn't made a great effort at first to nail down a proper timeframe for this fic. But, given the information here, it must be set sometime between Blue Spirit, in which Zhao is promoted to Admiral, and The Waterbending Master, in which Zhao steals Zuko's crew and has his ship blown up.

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Chapter 2 – Misdirection

ZUKO

My hand still hovered over the door latch, melted in my haste. It would have to replaced, but I had no time to secure the girl properly otherwise. I took a moment to lean my head against the door, listening for her movements, for any indication of what she would do in her new space. The unmistakable sound of ceramic shattering against the door was my answer. I jerked my head away from the echoing impact, clenching my back teeth together in anger, and tried to will the girl to be silent. It was my great fortune that my quarters were removed from the working areas of the ship.

I had no time to attempt to calm the girl—not that she would listen to me anyway—and the _Admiral_ (the title was an acrid acknowledgement crouching on the back of my tongue) would already consider it an insult that I had not been there to greet him when he arrived. I would have to be on the bridge by the time Uncle led him there.

"It's in your best interests to cooperate," I reminded her through the iron door, knowing my words were wasted. I felt my jawbone flex with annoyance and promised bitterly, "I'll be back to deal with you later."

I barely managed to reach the bridge and smooth out my robes before Uncle arrived, Admiral Zhao only a few steps behind him. The Admiral's cursory inspection of the bridge left him with a look of antipathy while he ground his fingers together as if testing dust he had found, or perhaps, it was my bones he was pretending to crush. He turned to me.

"I have heard from reliable sources," Zhao continued, in that needling way of his, "that your men recently fought the Avatar and his compatriots." He let his statement linger, demanding my elaboration.

"He eluded me," was the only summary I gave. "He won't the next time we meet," I assured the Admiral. Zhao nodded, moving his arms to casually clasp his hands behind his back, and pursed his mouth into an expression of deliberate thought. I knew that he had done all of his thinking well before stepping foot onto my ship. I set my jaw.

"It's been rumored that you took a captive—a waterbending girl, I believe," he offered as if he were making polite conversation.

"She's been disposed of," I told him with a flippant flick of my hand that said she was just another prisoner, of no importance beyond the moment she had been captured. How far from the truth that was, in so many ways I would not allow myself to truly consider. The unspoken lie, something that had become a sort of daily mantra for me, left a familiar, hollow feeling in my chest that I tried to ignore as Zhao raised a wary eyebrow at this news, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

"You know how rashly the young Prince sometimes acts when he is angry," Uncle interjected, giving me a disapproving look that only I could tell was woven with a subtle warning.

"Hmm. Yes," Zhao conceded, no doubt recalling our Agni Kai and eyeing my scar with unmasked scrutiny. I did not turn my face aside as my normal sensitivity to such direct study dictated, but held my ground as Zhao commented, "It's a shame you were not kept longer in the palace to continue your… tempering." I felt the corner of my mouth twitch toward a snarl and forced it back into place. "Still," Zhao continued, "an ally of the Avatar's would have been an excellent bargaining chip… for you, of course," he was quick to add, "and your mission."

I exhaled heavily through my nose. "_My_ mission?" I questioned. Zhao had made it quite clear on prior occasions that he considered the Avatar's capture _his_ personal mission. I had no illusions that he would willingly return the duty to me.

Zhao looked uncomfortable, and he cleared his throat. "Your father has been made aware of your pursuit of the Avatar and your _near_ victories," he couldn't help but emphasize. "Your sister has been instrumental in convincing him that you are uniquely motivated to find the boy, and your tracking skills are well known." He related these things as hearsay, not personal opinion. "As Admiral of the Fire Nation navy, I, of course, have duties greater than chasing the Avatar through the four kingdoms. We have had our differences, Prince Zuko," he said, managing to make the title sound like an insult, "but I plan to take an interest in grooming your efforts."

"It is strange, though," he continued, "how relentlessly you have dogged the Avatar, and yet, you killed the Waterbender so swiftly. That seems a hasty move, even for one of your… reputation." Disgrace, he meant to say.

Zhao's intrigues irritated me—he was up to something; nothing he did ever fell outside the realm of self promotion—and I wanted him off my ship. This would be no secret to him. "If you think I have that vile Water Tribe peasant, Admiral, feel free to search my holding cells. You'll find them empty."

"Oh," Zhao nodded, "I have already I sent a few of my men to assist your guards in making sure any prisoners you might have were secured," he assured me. "A favor to you." His slight grin spoke volumes. He thought to have the girl onto his ship by now, safely stowed away before he had even divulged his knowledge of her. Behind him, I saw Uncle's face turn ashen before he quickly composed himself. "My Lieutenant should be here momentarily to give his report. I suppose we'll see how empty your cells really are."

I willed my fingers not to flex, a sign Zhao would surely see as blatant hostility, something he might read into. "I suppose we will, then," I answered with an air of carefully practiced petulance. "Are there any other parts of my ship you would like to rifle through? Perhaps you would like me to turn out my pockets for you or dump my clothes chest onto the map table."

"Zuko," Uncle grumbled, "Show some respect for the Admiral. I am certain he has his reasons for such… intrusions. Whether you like it or not, as leader of the navy, he speaks for you Father, here."

Uncle was playing his part, reprimanding my flare of youthful defiance. Still, the phrase rankled. I was my father's son, Prince of the Fire Nation and rightful heir to the throne. I should be the one speaking for my father, here. I was destined to one day become Fire Lord, and Zhao would not stand in my way, no matter what new game he was playing. He would not take the Waterbender from me and destroy my only chance of regaining my honor, of claiming my redemption.

Zhao's brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing in offense at my outburst, but his attention was redirected when a man of some twenty years entered the bridge. "Ah," Zhao said, greeting the soldier. "Here is the Lieutenant, now. Let us hear what he has found." He practically shone with preemptively claimed triumph.

"Admiral," the soldier said. I could hear the tiny quaver in his voice, and I fought my own smile. "Prince Zuko holds no prisoners," he delivered his report with crisp precision. "I questioned the guards. There _had_ been a girl—a waterbender," he confirmed.

I gritted my teeth together and dramatically clenched my fists at my sides. "Find out the names of the men on duty in the brig," I quietly spat at Uncle, appearing momentarily satisfied by his grave nod. Zhao smirked slightly, his chest rising with a suppressed chuckle at the thought of my men being punished for this betrayal of information. He liked nothing better than to show me that I was not in authority, even on my own ship, with my own men. He turned back to his Lieutenant, encouraging the man to continue.

"The guards said that the girl did not survive her interrogation with His Highness. Her body was committed to the sea three days ago." Committed—it was a euphemism for tossed overboard by an impetuous boy who could not control his own rages. The Lieutenant still recognized my royal parentage, it seemed, and chose his phrases accordingly.

Zhao turned on me, fury etched deeply into the sun beaten frown of his aging face. It was difficult to contain my glee. "Do you realize what you have done?" he bellowed, sacrificing the decorum required of a Fire Nation officer in favor of trying to intimidate me. "Fool. You cast away your advantages like the unthinking child you are, as you did when your father gave you the opportunity to stand at his side. Your very existence is a mockery to your lineage. The girl would have brought _him_ to you… to me! And you wasted her in a childish fit."

"I suppose _you_ should have captured her, then, if you deem her so important; I have more impressive quarry to hunt. But I'll be certain to let you know if I take any other peasant women into custody you might want to steal off my ship."

"Your father will hear of this."

"I have no doubt. Please give him and my sister my regards when you see them." Zhao would not have dared shown Azula such disrespect. Of course, my sister had not fallen out of our father's good graces—she was not the one who had been banished to wander the desolate sea with only foreign ports to call on. This new information would damage whatever improved opinion my father had developed of me during my exile, if he actually had, but all would be forgiven when I returned triumphant, with the Avatar in chains.

"Oh, a messenger hawk will have to suffice," he informed me, that secret smile of his firmly back in place. "Since you seem to be unable to recognize the opportunities fate insists on throwing at your feet, I think I shall accompany you on your journey for a while. A prince, even a banished one, requires a… mentor." Babysitter, he meant. With this revelation, Zhao cast a glance at Uncle, his disdain and disappointment evident. Allowing me to kill the girl, in his already uncharitable opinion, only compounded the shame that accompanied Uncle's failure to complete the conquest of Ba Sing Se. To Zhao, Uncle was growing dangerously close to becoming nothing but an old man now, no longer worthy of the military legacy he had devoted his life to building.

"Your quartermaster," he continued, "can find me adequate accommodations, I assume?" I turned my head slightly, letting my gaze shift to the window to wander the sparkling sea and pointedly ignored his question. I heard Uncle grunt in affirmation and caught his nod to an idle crewman to accompany the Admiral and see to his needs.

The Lieutenant turned to follow then but stopped when a clanging sound reverberated from somewhere within the ship. Only Uncle saw the cringe at the corner of my eye. "What's that noise?" the young man asked.

"Maintenance," Uncle responded quickly with one of his patented smiles. "Someone is moving cargo around." The clang rang deeply again., "Everything that is not nailed down, I imagine," he added in his ruefully humorous tone. The Lieutenant offered a perplexed look and then trailed after his superior.

After they had left the bridge, I spoke to my Uncle.

"Ensure that the men who provided Admiral Zhao with his information receive what's coming to them," I insisted gruffly, still staring out at the water. "Time off, bonus pay; whichever they prefer." After Uncle promised to do as I'd asked, I turned and also exited the bridge, heading for my own quarters to assess whatever damage that bristling boar-q-pine had visited upon my cabin.

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Response to Reviewers:

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed my first chapter; your encouragement keeps me writing. I hope you enjoyed this chapter from Zuko's viewpoint. The next chapter will be from Katara's viewpoint again and will perhaps begin the gratuitous leg of our journey.

SilverScreamer, in particular: D'oh! Reorganization mishap. We'll pretend me molding space and time into whatever configuration I like falls under the umbrella of "artistic license." :P At least no one ended up with a third arm or something. I'll try to pay more attention to situational awareness in the next chapters.


	3. Concession

Welcome to the shamelessly gratuitous portion of this fic. If you'll look to your left, you will see Katara and Zuko forced to share a bed; if you look to your right, you will see Katara now wearing one of Zuko's shirts. If you look in my wastebasket, you will see where I left my pride… Enjoy

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Chapter 3 – Concession

KATARA

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I sat on the edge of a bench, my back to a meditation altar, and surveyed the room with profound satisfaction. The contents were sparse, its occupant apparently lacking any sense of sentimentality, but what I found, I had turned to chaos. The chest had been emptied of the familiar looking robes that were now strewn across the floor, some in tatters, and any pottery, ceramic, or glass I had found existed now only in shards. I heard footsteps beyond the door and tightly gripped the stone paperweight I had not been able to break apart, no matter the dents I had left in the floor with it.

I saw a light, a molten line near the latch as the welds were broken, and then, the door opened. I let the paperweight fly, barely missing Zuko's head as he ducked into the room. My weapon sailed harmlessly over his head and out into the corridor where I heard it bounce off the opposite wall. I was going to have to work on my aim. He stood in the doorway, flanked on either side by Fire Nation banners, and scanned the room.

"I see you've made yourself at home," he commented resignedly. "Building a nest, harpy-rat?" Having wasted my weapon, I began searching for another, and then I saw the antique swords displayed on the wall opposite the door. Feeling foolish for not having had one at the ready when he'd arrived, I rushed toward them. I wrenched one free and held it high over my head. "Put down my sword," Zuko warned, closing the door behind him. "You don't know how to use it, and you'll only end up hurting yourself."

"So this _is _your room!" I yelled at him, furious for some reason that I had been here this whole time, in the place where he slept, where he kept his things. Heedless of his warning, I ran at him, intent on slicing him in half. Zuko pivoted easily and caught me in a hold, spinning me so that I was locked in his arms with my back against his chest. "I said—put it down." He twisted my wrist just shy of the point of breaking, holding it there while I whimpered until I finally let the handle grip fall from my hand. The sword clattered to the metal floor, and Zuko immediately released my wrist but did not let me go. I flailed, jerking to get loose, but his hold on me only tightened.

"Listen to me, Waterbender," he snarled, "I would have been happy to leave you in your cell until the Avatar came, but we now have a situation. I have a guest whom you would do well to stay clear of."

"Somebody worse than you?" I mocked. "That's hard to imagine." I felt the heat of his annoyance on my neck as he forced a sigh out through his nose, and I shivered despite the vehemence burning through me.

"Admiral Zhao has seen fit to move himself onto my ship for the time being."

I suppose Zuko felt me stiffen and took this as an indication that he had impressed me with the seriousness of 'our' predicament because the constriction of his arms eased and he held me only loosely. He began to speak again, leaning over my shoulder to lecture into my ear.

"There is no water in this room," he told me—something of which I was already well aware, "and you cannot physically overpower me." He released my arms—a show of faith, perhaps, or more likely, my wounded pride told me, an acknowledgement of my weakness against him. His hands, however, still rested on my hips and gripped harder in emphasis as he informed me, "You have no choice but to cooperate." At this statement, I ducked out from under his chin, wrenched free of his hands, and moved a few steps away, crossing my arms over my chest and hugging my elbows. Zuko continued defining the terms of my confinement.

"While you are in my custody, you will touch no weapons, you will bend no water. The moment you do, I _will_ toss you over the side of the ship and find another way to trap the Avatar on my own. But I promise you this: do as I say, and when I capture the Avatar, I will release you, unharmed."

I scoffed.

"You don't believe me? A Prince of the Fire Nation doesn't break his bargains." He actually sounded wounded.

I glanced over my shoulder at him. "I don't believe you think I'd actually trade comfort for Aang's freedom. Do whatever you want with me, Zuko," I told him, turning back to face the wall, "but I'm not going to help you capture Aang."

"And your brother?" Zuko asked; I felt my rigid spine slump. "I never thought for a second that the Avatar would be alone when he came for you," he said. "If you won't trade the Avatar for your own comfort, would you trade your _pride_ for your brother's _life_? I'll spare your brother if you cooperate. Cross me, and he'll die. You know he's of no use to me."

Sokka—my heart folded in on itself at the thought of him in danger. I didn't even know if he was still alive—I prayed to La every night that he was well—but I couldn't bear to put him at greater peril; I couldn't let Zuko paint a target on him out of spite. "You dangle me in front of Aang, and my brother in front of me? I'm starting to understand why they banished you," I ignored the holes I could almost feel him burning into my back. "You won't be able to do either when I escape," I told him. I heard a snort behind me.

"Where would you go?" he asked me; I wanted to slap the smirking sound from his tone. "Even if you made it out of this room and onto the deck with hundreds of miles of your precious water at hand and no idea of where dry land might be… where would you go?" He waited the span of a few heartbeats, into which I said nothing. My skin crawled with chills when he closed the space between us. He was not touching me, but he was so close that I could still feel the heat from his body. "Would you go to Zhao?" he asked. "He's ruthless," Zuko warned me. "He is a man with no honor, no conscience, and no boundaries."

"I thought _you_ were a man with no honor. Isn't that what you've been chasing all this time—the honor you lost? How am I any worse off with Zhao, then?"

This time, he brought a hand up to my arm, gripping it determinedly, and I flinched sideways. His touch seemed to burn through my skin to brand my soul with his displeasure. "If you can't see the answer to that," I heard the anger and resentment in his rough voice, "then perhaps I _should_ just give you to Zhao and be done with the trouble of trying to save you from yourself." He paused; the new softness I heard in his tone when he spoke again was surly just my imagination. "Do you _really_ hate me so much?" he asked.

"Yes," I unthinkingly retorted, regretting the words, true as they might be, the moment they left my lips. "Do you really hate _me_ so much?" I countered.

Zuko was silent for a few seconds, and then, he finally said, his tone flat, "You're a means to an end."

I was a means to an end—his way to capture the Avatar. I was stupid to think it was my safety that Zuko had been concerned with. He didn't want Zhao to find me because he didn't want to lose his only advantage over Aang. We both knew what I meant to the Airbender. But Zhao would just use me toward the same purpose, perhaps try to bargain with Aang directly—my life for his. At least I knew that Zuko would not kill me—I _believed_ that Zuko would not kill me. Whatever he felt he had lost—I had to hope that there was still some hint of honor left in him.

His fingers dug into my arm and he turned me around, casting me toward the stuffed mattress, set to one side of the room. "It's late. Do whatever it is you do at night, and then go to bed," he ordered as he bent to retrieve his sword from the floor. He moved to put it back in its proper place, handling it with reverence. The rest of the mess he simply seemed to catalog.

It wasn't _that_ late. I could tell from the long, high window over Zuko's meditation altar that the sun had only recently set. Zuko was retreating, too weary to fight with me all evening, but unwilling to leave me alone. "All your plotting and scheming must have been just _exhausting_," I grumbled but turned toward the mattress, anyway, and cleared away the broken pottery bits that littered the blankets.

I had no water, no comb, so I took off my boots and stripped down to my bindings as I often did when I swam with Aang and Sokka. I had never been self conscious about it, but when Zuko looked at me, I saw him cast his gaze aside. Sorting through a pile of clothes with his boot, Zuko found a long garment and kicked it in my direction without looking at me. It landed at my feet.

"I'm not wearing this," I told him, pointedly. I wanted nothing from him.

"You're not sleeping in just your… under things," he answered.

I knelt to retrieve the shirt. It was white, well-spun silk, softer than any fabric I had ever touched, probably worth more than all the clothes I had ever owned—a Prince's shirt. It was something he would have worn under his robes—the clothing closest to his body. I let it fall back to the floor.

"I mean it," he said, noticing from the corner of his eye that I hadn't clothed myself with it. "You will put it on, or I will put it on you."

Dressing me against my will was a greater invasion of my personal space than I could handle tonight. I growled, grabbed the shirt, and yanked it down over my head. I was discomforted by the way the shirt reeked of Zuko, of the dusky scent of smoke and spices. I was disgusted by how luxurious it felt against my skin, billowing around my wrists and thighs.

I lay down, turning my back on Zuko to face the wall, and shifted several times. I was unaccustomed to the softness of a mattress. The lamps on the opposite side of the room cast Zuko's long shadow on the wall, and I watched the shape of his movements as he undressed, exchanging his robes for loose pants. A swift wave of his arm plunged the room into darkness, softened only by the small rays of moonlight that fell through the window. I heard him step closer, standing over the mattress.

"You don't have to help me, Waterbender," he told me. "Just stop fighting me at every turn, for you own sake... at least until Zhao is gone, and then you can go back to your cell and back to trying to slit my throat if it makes you happy."

That _would_ make me happy I decided, especially after I felt his weight jostle the mattress. Before I could turn over, Zuko's solid form sidle up behind mine and he draped his arm across my waist. I shot to my knees, incensed, and turned on him.

"What do you think you're doing!?" I screeched at him.

"I'm trying to sleep," he said, blinking as he propped up on one elbow. His form was outlined by subtle silver light until he lit a small flame in the hand of the arm he was leaning on, the firelight dancing against the paleness of his bare chest. He took my wrist in his other hand, pulling on it gently. "Lie back down. I'm tired."

I refused to budge, and Zuko sighed. "Look," he tried to explain, with nothing of patience in his tone. "I'm not going to be welded inside my own quarters; if something happens, I'll have to get to the bridge quickly. But I'm also not going to take the chance that you might let yourself out while I'm asleep." He raised his unmarred eyebrow at me. "I _could_ bind you again. Would you rather sleep on the floor, with your arms twisted behind your back all night?"

I recalled my time in the cell, how my shoulders had ached, how the ropes had cut into my skin and my hands had become numb. At one point I had been sure the nerves would become damaged past the point of bending if I was tied up much longer.

"No," I said weakly.

"Then lie back down," he ordered, sounding relieved that I had conceded to his logic. "And don't flatter yourself." His tone resumed its normal acidity as the flame disappeared. "I'm not a barbarian; I have no interest in _Waterbenders._"

I lowered myself onto my side, with my back to Zuko; otherwise, I would just end up glaring at him all night. He proved to be a light sleeper—always alert, always on edge—and three of the four times I tried to sneak away from the bed, he quickly roused and yanked me back down by my shirt tails. The fourth time, he had grown exasperated with my game and decided to shove one arm under my neck and wrap the other tightly around me, clasping his own forearm to complete the circle and prevent my moving at all. I made a point to elbow him frequently and grind my heel against his shin until, eventually, he saw the wisdom in allowing me my space and moved completely to his own side of the pallet. When I tried to move again, I realized he had wound a long section of my dark hair around his fist.

I tried to remind myself—while Zuko's warm body was lying so aggravatingly close to mine, while his foreign scent enveloped me and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulled me, sounding too much like the wash of waves on a distant shore—that I could never allow myself to let down my guard. Still, I slept next to him, stiffly, and I dreamt of my brother and my friend and of Zhao's angry amber eyes chasing me through the darkness.

* * *

I'm getting a sense that chapters that focus on plot are not so popular. I'll try for more Zutara and less "other people," with a few exceptions... because I've already written some of those chapters.


	4. Impression

Chapter 4 – Impression

ZUKO

* * *

_**It bends until it breaks…**_

I thought brutality of word and action would be the only weapon with which I could contain her. But every time I yelled at her or threatened her; every time she glared back with contempt and defiance with those crisp-blue eyes; every time I felt something inside me crack a little more, its edges raw and bright; I could see the girl's strength… and I couldn't bear to burn it out of her. Ironically, the softer my words, the more clearly she seemed to hear them. Leave it to a Water Tribe peasant to make things so utterly backward.

_**It has a hidden meaning…**_

Her name—despite my insistence that _yes, I've chased you all over the world, I clearly know your name_—was Katara, not _Waterbender_, not _peasant_, not _harpy_, not _girl_; It was _Katara_, and I had better start using it if I didn't want to be smothered in my sleep.

As it turns out, it's actually very hard to breathe through a pillow, and it doesn't get any easier the second or third time.

_**It rolls off like water…**_

I had a paneled screen brought to my quarters. It had been purchased at the next port, among a hundred other aimless oddities in Uncle's haggled trove; he had been delighted by the need to camouflage it. Nightly, I stood on one side of the screen, my arms crossed, and my face twisted into a perpetual scowl. Every drop of water, every cascade I imagined she was pouring over her hair sounded like the foreboding whistle in the air just before the arrows rain.

_**It orders the world to its liking…**_

I could say it all I wanted, but that didn't make it true—even if it _was_ true, even if its truth was the difference between life and death, and even if I threatened any suggestions of untruth with a sound lashing.

_**It stops the heart…**_

She had perfected the art of surprise. Not in attacking me from behind when I entered the room; not in suddenly throwing some object at the back of my head; not in releasing, without warning, a carefully crafted string of expletives she could only have learned in a tavern in an Earth Kingdom seaport; nor in the dozen other ways she attempted to shock me, catch me off guard, or get the drop on me. No, she surprised me in more significant ways… like when I had walked in to find that my mediation altar had become the base of a poorly constructed ladder of chests and benches. At its pinnacle teetered a shaking girl, trying to look out the long, high window. That, of course, wasn't the surprise. The surprise was my arms, though I couldn't have told you what master they served, obediently beneath her before she had a chance to hit the floor.

_**It doesn't save you…**_

My shirts were no longer just shirts when _she_ wore them. The wearing lent the fabric magic that rendered it a new form on which I was slightly unnerved to let my gaze linger. Magic is hard to control, and it reshapes all sorts of things without permission.

_**It has accomplices…**_

"What is this?" I demanded, taking a whiff of the small, waxy purple block and jerking my head back from the overpoweringly floral scent.

"Soap," Uncle proudly declared.

"You do realize this is a ship full _men_, Uncle."

"Not _entirely_ full of men," he offered.

"She's not a doll for you to dote on," I growled. "She's our prisoner."

"Yes," he quickly agreed, his face, nevertheless lighting up as he produced a second rose-colored bar from the folds of his sleeve. "But wouldn't it be nice if our prisoner smelled like lilac and berry blossoms?"

_**It only damns you further…**_

The unconscious fear of nightmares was a dangerous thing to experience so close to a sleeping body, delicate limbs, and unwary blue eyes—but only slightly less dangerous than the unnamed aching of softer dreams that made a stricken Prince gather them in his arms.

_**It is the lesser of two evils…**_

Fire consumes. It catches, and flame rises like bits of burned letters. It is a beast that devours as much within as without, a hundred red and orange tongues licking the soul. Its frenzied fingers claw until it enkindles the heart or uses a spirit like coals. But fire, no matter how hot and strong it burns, however ferociously it feeds, never lives beyond the thing it ravages.

Water engulfs. With its sudden, frigid bite; the powerful torrent of its being, and a patient will that carves mountains and whittles canyons, water drowns. Add shiny jets of dark hair and infuriatingly bottomless blue wells for eyes, and it could even overwhelm a Fire Prince. Water etches its presence on whatever it touches, changing it forever.

I wasn't sure which fate would be worse—to consume Katara or to drown in her. But the lesson seemed absurd in its obviousness: fire and water can exist in the same space for only so long.

* * *

_**It is full of drabbles….**_

And because that's all I did for this chapter and I was slow to put it up, you get another right on its heels.

Reviewers: Again, thanks to everyone who has commented on this story and to everyone who hasn't commented but has still added it to their favorites or requested alerts on it. I'm glad that you've liked it so far and I'll try to keep it coming.

PanPan: Keeping Katara quiet involves a combination of bullying, bargaining, and imparting a concept of how bad it would be for her to get caught. Following chapters will continue to illustrate. Hiding her from Zhao might not be completely successful though.

SinCityAngelAle: I envision Zhao as staying onboard but with his own ship following along nearby.

AnaAza: Without giving too much away, let's just say if Zhao does find Katara, then I assume resulting events will make Sokkantylee very happy…. well, _some_ of the resulting events.

Btw, …what's a lemon?


	5. Regression

Chapter 5 – Regression

KATARA

* * *

"Why am I here?"

He didn't turn around, only continued unbuttoning the front of his shirt with his back to me. "It's very obvious why you're here," he informed me in patronizingly patient tones. "You're a prisoner on board a Fire Nation ship. I thought the flags might have given it away."

A peculiar frustration lit within me, tightening my chest. I had lived my first days on this ship in never-ending anxiety of what might come next, only to have the grizzly expectation of my prospects met with a mind-reeling combination of oddities. My evenings were plagued by this brooding warrior who, after fulfilling the daily obligations of war, sought the sanctuary of his own space only to find that space reluctantly occupied by the enemy. It was difficult, in these late, waning hours, to discern whether the heat in his golden eyes was an exhausted reflection of the lamp light or the glower of Fire Bender contempt; his expression never changed. My mornings, though, were sometimes woven of delicate dreams, of unexpected security found only in the strongest, surest arms; of comfort yielded by warm breath across my collar bone and a chin cradled in the hollow of my neck and shoulder. And because such closeness was heralded by the dark, heartrending harbingers from which Zuko never fully woke, I feigned sleep when he reached for me and did not fight his arms.

At Zuko's quip, I pursed my lips in tight-lined irritation. "I meant, if I'm your prisoner, then why am I here, in your quarters? Is it really just Zhao? Because I haven't _seen_ him. I don't even know if he's really here."

Zuko didn't bother to answer. We had lived, this past week, within a house of cards, progressively getting on each other's nerves in these close quarters, and I had been afraid to speak, to breathe even, for fear of disturbing what solace I found in our unchanging routine. Zuko was still dangerous, but I desperately needed to know my future.

With a wide-flung arm of reckless defiance, I struck at the base of that house, intent on sending his cards flying into rage and chaos. I could no longer tolerate whatever game he was playing at. I would force Zuko to deal with me, now and on my own terms.

"I guess it should be obvious why I'm here," I started, "why you keep me locked in your room, making me sleep in your bed," as benign as that had been so far, "I should have expected as much." I'd been given a choice—I had to admit that, and in the back of my mind, I was furious with myself for my lack of resolve in the passive-aggressive (mostly aggressive) stance I'd taken early on—I didn't want to be one of those prisoners who cooperated, especially not with such informal, amicable imprisonment.

Zuko had paused in his nightly routine. I had wanted to make him as angry as I was at that moment, and I could see the evidence of my success in the way his white-knuckled rage gripped the edge of the table in front of him. "Such is Fire Nation honor," I mocked, pressing my advantage with careless fervor; I thought nothing could be worse than this past week of uncertainty.

I was mistaken.

What surprised me most was his speed. I had seen Zuko fight several times, but he seemed to cross the short distance of the room in the span of a heartbeat and grapple me onto the mattress with a quick and discomforting ease. As I lay there, struggling to move beneath him, he burdened my lighter frame with just enough of his solid torso that my breaths became short and raspy. He had pinned one of my arms behind my back, useless under both our bodies. I lashed out wildly with my free arm, striking at his face until he wrenched my arm above my head, the iron shackle of his hand around my wrist preventing any leverage.

Planting one of his knees against mine, he forced my thighs apart and settled the weight of his hips between them. Before I could become hysterical, though, his free hand took my jaw in its wide grip, commanding me to meet his gaze. His eyes were molten gold, searing and unforgiving. They held the ardent glow of southern sunsets gilding jagged icebergs; the color of late-summer leaves when they finally clothed themselves in the amber aspect of autumn's grace; and the warmth of honeyed jewels with the richest, most flawless depth. I longed to freeze them out of his head.

"Is this how you want me, then?" he growled, grinding his hips down on mine in threat. My body bucked against his, and he answered by pressing me farther into the feather mattress. I froze, and he grazed the side of his mouth against my ear, his harsh whispers barely muffled by the pillow and my unbound hair. "If I had meant to use you, Katara, I would have—_effortlessly—_and you would have found yourself shared out among my officers by now." I felt the reality he painted drain the color from my face. He lifted slightly to look into my eyes again.

"Housing you in my quarters was an inconvenient courtesy on my part. I thought you might prefer it to Zhao's cells. I was being _nice_." Liar. Although he had released my chin, I could not bring myself to look away from the intensity that burned in his stare as he continued. "If you don't feel like a proper prisoner unless I force myself upon you, then I'll happily martyr your virtue," he told me, but his tone and expression implied there would be nothing happy about it. He became deadly still, then, waiting for me to make my decision. If it weren't for the way a little air was forced from my lungs every time he expanded his, I would scarcely have known Zuko was breathing.

My heart transformed into a little bird that beat wildly against the cage of my ribs, and I could feel its echo thrumming where his hips still pressed into me. "No," I managed to croak out, "get off me." I could not decipher the dark emotion that flittered across his ruined features in the half moment before Zuko sneered with smug satisfaction. In one fluid motion, he rose up off the bed and tossed me over onto my side to free my trapped arm. He stalked back to his clothes chest and finished calmly removing his shirt. He did not bother to extinguish the lamps, and I glared pointedly at his bare back. My anger ignored the fact that he might have been a sculpture in tribute to the martial arts. Hard, compact muscles of seeming experience—the long, taut lines of ambition—flowed beneath smooth skin that belied youthfulness much too tender to lead men.

He stood straight, now finished with his task, and cast a glance over his shoulder at me. "Be glad of my Fire Nation honor, Katara," he warned, "it's the only thing that keeps you safe." With a casual flick of his hand, the lamps went out, plunging the room into a darkness permeated only by the sound of his hoarse voice, tiredly ordering me to go to sleep. As he rounded the bed, sunk down onto the side opposite mine, and wound his fist into my hair, I perched in rigid protest on the edge of the mattress, as far from him as I could get without tumbling onto the floor, hoping that, at least for tonight, he would maintain a respectable distance.

Was I uncomfortable sleeping in his arms? Achingly far from it, I realized. In fact, I was most uncomfortable with the idea of being comfortable there, ashamed to admit to myself that if I relaxed back into him and let his solid form support mine, I would sleep far too peacefully.

Morning was, in its typical, enigmatic way, no evidence to the prior night's quarrel. The sound of the morning horn startled me out of my dreams, and with my sudden movement, Zuko's arm tightened around my waist, pulling me close. My stomach turned as I was reminded of our previous proximity, and I shirked away from the warmth of his body, rolling over him to push him away. He caught my hand before I could land it against his chest and glared hotly at me. The perfect side of his face was now also marred by three fresh, dainty scratches.

He noticed my scrutiny of his cheek, gingerly touched his face, and quietly swore. I grunted, mildly gratified, and I was unapologetic as Zuko got out of bed, dressed, and prepared for his day, even though he moved with a tension I hadn't seen in weeks. As he opened the door and started to leave the room, he turned back briefly to announce a break in our morning tradition. "You will have breakfast with General Iroh today." Then he was gone, shutting the door behind him and securing the repaired lock.


	6. Interception

Sorry this one took more time than usual. It was longer and more difficult to write because herein, dear charliie, something happens.

* * *

Chapter – Interception

KATARA

* * *

Obsessions. I was beginning to learn that they were as part and parcel to a Fire Bender's nature as was his passion. Fire Lord Ozai's obsession was the conquest of the world. Fire Prince Zuko's obsession was the capture of the Avatar. And the obsession that plagued General Iroh—the great Dragon of the West—was tea.

I watched with grand suspicion as the older man tilted the teapot, pouring a stream of steaming, leaf-tinted water into a small porcelain cup, and I wondered if Zuko had any idea how casually Iroh was flaunting liquids in front of me. Perhaps he just trusted the Dragon of the West to handle anything that a young Waterbender might decide to splash at him. I was slightly unnerved by the way Iroh failed to yell at me, threaten me every time I reached for the cup, or light a fire if I so much as twitched a finger—such had become my typical mealtime, and I wasn't sure what to do with this unexpected trust and freedom. I had to admit, despite my urge to bend, I did not think I would make it very far if I were determined to cause trouble for Iroh, and it seemed somehow rude to even think about it.

The food, more plentiful and varied than when Zuko brought it, was, for the first time since my capture, actually appetizing. I felt certain it was the company that made it so—even the most delectable pastries lost their appeal when my view was dominated by the scarred, scowling face of the sullen Fire Prince. But as glad as I was for Iroh's pleasant, disarming companionship, I could barely contain my curiosity for the absence of the captor who rarely seemed compelled to leave me. I wondered if I had angered him to the point that he could no longer tolerate the sight of me or if he was simply busy with his duties. The sudden sound of Iroh's deep voice drew me out of my speculation.

"It is a complex brew," Iroh told me, as he poured a second cup, "truly appreciated by only those enlightened with a discerning sense of taste. The strongest, most obvious flavor is the black dragon leaf, which gives the tea an almost overpowering spice and fire. But if you wait, there is a subtle strength that emerges with the woody undertones of the leechi nut and just a slight hint of plum to sweeten when you don't expect it."

He made a very satisfied sound as he took a large swill from his cup, and I followed suit. I, however, made a face and sputtered a bit as I tried to keep the tea in my mouth and swallow it down.

"Most people do not get passed the heat," Iroh sighed wistfully. "It takes time to separate the unique aspects from one another and appreciate them for what they truly are. With each tasting, the truth becomes more evident." He paused, conspicuously, and his tone became imploring as he added, "It is not easy to have patience with such things, but the reward is often worth the effort."

I realized he was not talking about the tea.

I sat my cup down. The red salamander forever chasing his tail around the warm porcelain sides glared at me accusingly, but the tea no longer held my interest after the revelation of Iroh's metaphor. I had no patience for cataloging Zuko's personal, combustible components and very little compassion, at this point, to attempt to understand them. "Why do you care whether I like Zuko?" I pointedly asked, and Iroh shrugged noncommittally.

"My nephew is often misunderstood," he explained.

"Considering I've been his prisoner for several weeks," I answered, "I think I understand your nephew pretty well." My tone was a dark and bitter tea, grown cold.

Iroh released his cup and reclined with his elbow on the mattress. He smiled, but despite the upturns, it still managed to seem pensive and hesitant. "My nephew is a powerful Firebender," he said, "and he is very good at fighting for what he believes in. He is absolutely committed to whatever mission he undertakes, and he is difficult to deter or dissuade in any fashion from what he thinks he wants. These are all very admirable qualities in moderation." Iroh's strange smile finally pursed into a genuinely thoughtful expression. "It is the _not fighting_ where the Prince flounders. Zuko has pure intentions, but he is not good at reigning in his desperation."

"Desperation for what?" I asked, narrowing my eyes, "The honor he's trying to find?"

Iroh shrugged again. "Yes, honor but also acceptance… and love. He has a desire to do good, and the will and power to bring his desires to fruition. But this will is in constant conflict with his loyalty to his people, with his sense of duty, as he sees it, to continue to propel them to greatness as his forbearers have done. Without the Avatar, he has no hope, in his mind, of doing so."

Iroh reclaimed his cup and took another sip before adding, "As I said—a very complex brew."

"I don't like complex teas," I huffed.

Iroh gave a small snort. "You might not understand Prince Zuko," he told me gently, "but you are better served remaining under his protection."

"_Protection—_is that what he's calling it?" I scoffed, clearly recalling the heart-pounding image of him staring down at me the night before, his weight against my hips and contempt burning starkly in his eyes. Master Jeong Jeong's words whispered inside my head. _…Fire brings only destruction and pain. It forces those of us burdened with its care to walk a razor's edge between humanity and savagery. Eventually, we are torn apart… _I had been certain last night that Zuko's more primal urges had been unleashed with his anger. As I thought about it, though, I had begun to acknowledge how very controlled Zuko's actions actually had been—how much differently things would have gone had he not been so masterful of his inherent brutality. I wondered how long he would extend me such courteous restraint before the fire finally took control.

"He's just like the rest of them," I said, uncharitably, hugging my elbows.

Iroh's tone had drifted into a sagely current. "You are too young to understand how being a Fire Nation soldier can _truly_ twist a man."

"You're a Fire Nation General, and you aren't twisted. Strange," I conceded, "but not twisted."

Iroh answered me with a hearty laugh. "A kindness in distinction I will gladly accept." He lifted his tea cup to me and toasted. I did not reach for my cup, but Iroh politely pretended not to notice. "As much as you might dislike him now, you must realize that my nephew is the only thing that stands between you and Admiral Zhao." I considered his words as silence descended upon us. Could feel Iroh's eyes weighing me.

"Where is Zuko, anyway?" I suddenly asked.

Iroh quirked one of his gray eyebrows. "It seems my nephew managed to scratch up his face last night." I said nothing, but Iroh still watched me with a knowing look for a moment before continuing. "It has drawn some interest, and he thinks it would be risky for him to spend much time with you today. The Captain has sacrificed a fat lip to lend credence to the excuse that it was the result of a late-night sparring match. Not completely far from the truth, I imagine."

"The Prince has expended a great deal of energy in throwing off Zhao's suspicions that you are still on board. And we have been leading him on a pointless chase of false leads. Zuko attempts to make Zhao believe we are sincerely pursuing the Avatar, while at the same time, trying to hide from the young Airbender."

"Why?" I asked, puzzled by this news. "If the Fire Nation wants Aang so badly, why don't Zhao and Zuko just work together? That's fully half the reason he's always escaped in the past, you know."

Iroh nodded gravely, but his eyes didn't seem to hold quite the conviction that I thought a Fire Nation General's should have. "It is a complicated history," he said sadly and poured another cup as he began educating me in the enigma of the scarred, banished Prince of the Fire Nation.

I listened, enraptured, as the story of Zuko's painful past unfolded in Iroh's artful, agile hands, genuinely surprised to learn that the brash prince had tried to protect the lives of the Fire Nation soldiers the Fire Lord had given little thought to sacrificing. I felt horror cross my features as Iroh spoke of the Agni Kai and Zuko's refusal to fight when he discovered his father on the dealing end of the flame that had scarred him so irreparably. My mind tried to fill the mental image with Sokka and our own father, dueling for such a pointless reason—for any reason at all—but the idea of Hakoda hurting one of his children was so absurd that the image disintegrated before it ever really formed. While I might not understand Zuko, I did appreciate the sting of longing for home, of desperately wanting to see my father and Gran-Gran again. That didn't justify the things that Zuko had done, though.

I opened my mouth, but I would never know whether it was sympathy or condemnation I would have given voice to—my words died unspoken as the door to the cabin was thrown open and Zuko stormed into the room, the maelstrom of his temper swelling over the calm bridge of compassion Iroh so carefully had been building for him.

"The First Mate let it slip that the Captain was playing Pai Sho last night," he bit out, angrily, ignoring Iroh and seizing my wrist. "He threatened a Corporal with a beating if he didn't find me and give me the warning in time. Zhao knows you're here, and he's on his way." Zuko was already yanking me toward the door.

"What are you doing?" I demanded as I tried to pry away his fingers with my other hand; I might as well have been trying to bend stone. "Where are you taking me?" When Zuko just continued dragging me along behind him, I threw my weight backward and dug my heels in against the floor. Zuko turned on me, dipped downward, and then, threw me over his shoulder; air fled my lungs as I bounced onto his broad frame, and he grip the backs of my thighs to hold me steady. By the time I regained enough breath to insist that he release me, he had already carried me most of the way down the corridor. Footsteps and voices echoed back to us from around the corner.

"Get this mess out of my way! What fool swabs a ship in the middle of the morning? Move, or so help me, they'll be swabbing your ashes out next!"

Zhao was coming.

We would never make it back down to the other end of the hallway before Zhao rounded the corner and spotted us. Zuko bent forward and set me on my feet, again. I swayed dizzily as I regained my upright balance only to be nearly jerked off my feet once more as Zuko threw open the nearest door and thrust me into a small storage room. Only a little light from a porthole illuminated Zuko's stern features as he quietly closed the door behind us. We were trapped, now. Zuko backed into me, his hand flailing behind him until it managed to grip my forearm, and we waited. Boots trod the space outside the room, paused briefly, and then continued on. A door creaked open.

"Admiral," I heard Iroh's muffled voice, "What a pleasant surprise. I was waiting for Prince Zuko, but he must be very busy; perhaps you would care to join me for tea instead? It is a black dragon mix," he said, "very tempting, don't you think?"

"I don't have time for tea, General," Zhao's growl answered, accompanied by the sound of a cup breaking, "Stop trying to slow me down. You and your crew think you're very clever, don't you? Distracting me, trying bar my way here—coiled chain doesn't just fall out of storage into the corridor on its own. Where is she?" he demanded of Iroh.

"Admiral," Iroh intoned innocently, "I know you have a somewhat jaded opinion of Zuko's skills, but I assure you, he is still a young _man_."

"I'm tired of games, Iroh—tell me where she is unless you want worse than your nephew's scar."

I gasped, concern for Iroh momentarily overriding panic for my own situation. "He's going to kill Iroh," I cried out weakly.

Zuko clamped his hand down over my mouth and forced me against the wall. "Uncle can take care of himself, Katara. Zhao is no threat to him, so don't make a sound, no matter what happens." I struggled futilely against his solid mass as he leaned into me, stooping to allow me to see how serious he was right then. I wasn't sure how that was supposed to be different from any other time.

"Now, shut up!" he hissed, turning his head to listen to the sounds beyond our tiny room. His scar was only inches from my eyes and I took the moment to stare openly at it. To me, the brand had always been a symbol—not unlike his ponytail, the Fire Nation emblems along his cabin walls, or the red and black colors of his homeland—that clearly marked him as the enemy. But though it, like Zuko, had been born of fire, I realized it was more than that. The scar did not mark Zuko, the banished Prince of the Fire Nation; no, it marked Zuko, the lost man, the man who struggled with who and what he was, with where he belonged.

Zuko the Mirthless. Zuko the Unfeeling. These were the titles I had given him in my head, condemning him to rule over a joyless, gray nation of false honor and misplaced duty. But I now knew I was being unfair. Some people wore their emotions on their sleeves—I certainly did—but, even though they were difficult to discern, I now knew that Zuko plainly wore them on his face. Despite how hard he tried to hide the things he felt, every hurt, every regret, every twist of his conscience chased his eye like an angry dragon, writhing whenever he squinted or raged or, maybe… I decided, tried to smile. My eyes stung briefly and, annoyed by my lapse in resentment, I murmured something unladylike against his hand.

Zuko shook me slightly, apparently thinking I might start yelling again. "Don't you understand?" he growled. "If he finds you, he will take you away, and I don't know if I could stop it." He punctuated his words with such certainty that I gave up struggling and released the breath I had been holding in reserve to make noise. Zuko's hold on me slackened, and he moved his hand from my mouth, letting it rest instead against the side of my face. "If that happens, I will no longer control your fate," he breathed.

What did it matter which Firebender controlled my fate, I asked myself as I stood there with Zuko's body pressed into me and his fingers brushing the line of my hair. His breathing was frenzied, his nostrils slightly flared, and his eyes glittered with an emotion I had never seen in them before. Zuko was not angry or in a fury; he was terrified. It mattered, my heart answered, then; it mattered a great deal. It was crucial to my future, I somehow suddenly knew, that I remain in Zuko's hands. Without thinking, I reached for Zuko's robe, bunching the material in my quivering fist, and Zuko touched his forehead to mine.

We listened as Zhao continued to berate Iroh, and Iroh continued to respond, nonplussed, with vague lies or half truths that seemed to drive Zhao into a greater fury.

"Shh…" Zuko warned me, the soft sound barely a brush across the bridge of my nose, a breath against my lips, and for the briefest moment, Zuko and I were no longer captor and captive, but simply two teenagers alone in a darkened room, bound to each other by the fear of being discovered. I trembled in Zuko's hands, held up almost as much by the strength of his fingers tightening around my arm as by my own quaking legs. My heart fluttered a deafening staccato in my ears, drowning out the sounds of my own breathing, and as Zuko pressed closer, I could feel his heartbeat thudding, deep and dangerously, against my chest.

"I'll tear this ship apart if I have to," I heard Zhao warn, and then boots, more this time, echoed in the corridor again. "Check the crew quarters!" Zhao ordered—to his own men, now joined in the search, I assumed—and the sounds of hurried compliance faded away. We waited a minute or more before Zuko moved away from me, his hand trailing down my arm to find my wrist again. Easing toward the door, Zuko opened it, peered into the corridor, and then stole out of our hiding place, drawing me with him. I followed behind him, my fingers worrying a fold in the back of his robe. The corridor was empty, and we quickly hurried toward a set stairs at one end that would lead us down to the deck.

"There they are!" one of Zhao's soldiers called as we rounded the corner and came upon a group of them. Zuko pushed me in the opposite direction just before I felt the sudden heat that erupted behind me. I glanced back to see Zuko fighting off the soldiers, forcing them with flame to retreat, and then I smacked headlong into the wall of a man's chest.

"Ah," a triumphant voice crooned, "finally, we meet, little Waterbender." I turned to run away, but Zhao jerked me back and threw his thick arm across me, holding me against him. As Zuko heard me scream, he turned to see Zhao dragging me backward to the twin stairs at the other end of the hallway. "Now, now," Zhao said when Zuko raised his hand, "your aim isn't _that_ good." He chuckled as he lifted a lock of my hair to his nose, breathed in my scent, and let the strands fall back against my shoulder. "You wouldn't risk charring such a delicate, little thing, would you?"

Zuko swore and dropped his arm, and Zhao pulled me to the stairs. We descended, Zhao wrestling with me as I kicked at each step as my heels dropped from it. Zuko peered over the railing from the flight above us as Zhao glanced up. "Don't follow us, Your Highness, or I'll snap her neck. Her absence from your ship is much more important to me than her life." Zuko stared down at us, and I could almost imagine the column of fire I was sure he was conjuring in his mind and yet holding back for my sake. Very suddenly, he pivoted and began running up the stairs, away from us.

"Coward," Zhao muttered, a keen sense of satisfaction in his tone, and he turned, shoving me in front of him and pushing me the rest of the way down the stairs. I stumbled down to the landing and then ran for the door to the deck, wrenching it open just as Zhao thundered down behind me and grabbed me by my hair, digging his fingers against my skull. He forced me out into the bright sunlight, and deck hands cringed back when he let a wide arc of flame clear our path.

How could Zuko leave me? How could he abandon me to Zhao like this? After all these weeks of putting up with each other—the threats, the bullying, the dangerous proximity, and all to fool Zhao—how could he turn and run? Is that what he had been doing all this time—not searching for Aang to reclaim his honor, but running from his own disgrace? Was Zuko as Zhao had labeled him… a coward?

Even as I cursed Zuko, though, a spray of shattered glass rained down from above, and a blast of fire baked the nearby iron, cushioning Zuko's fall as he crashed to the deck and rolled into a stance, directly between Zhao and the small boat his men were preparing to lower, cutting off his escape. Zuko released a wall of fire that pushed the soldiers back into the boat as they tried to rush at him.

Zhao took a step toward the Prince, and a fireball erupted at the Admiral's feet. Zhao glared at the young man who faced him, bristling with defiance and beaming with the sheer force of his own will. Zuko drew his arms across his chest and slowly and deliberately pulled them into Firebending position, his left palm up and his right hand facing Zhao.

* * *

As always, my sincere thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed.


	7. Confrontation

As requested, the fight from Zuko's point of view. I feel the need to point out that combat scenes are one of my greatest weaknesses, so I hope this chapter doesn't crash and burn. And poor Zuko… I have to warn you that I'm going to be fairly torturous with him on several levels from here on out. Just remember, whatever I do, he's still my favorite, and I'll make it up to him later.

* * *

Chapter 7 – Confrontation

ZUKO

* * *

"An Agni Kai?" Zhao asked, his tone muddled with ridicule. "Haven't we been down this road before, Prince Zuko? You're really going to have to start being more creative if you hope to make it home alive."

I saw Katara's face twist into a panic when Zhao uttered those hateful words. I pursed my lips in aggravation. _Am I allowed no privacy on this ship, Uncle?_ I shook my head, shoving my annoyance aside to concentrate on what mattered right now. If the thought of an Agni Kai bothered the Waterbender, then she really wasn't going to like the rest of what I had to say.

"No, Zhao," I declared, evenly. "Challenging you to another Agni Kai would only insult the sanctity of the duel. I am a Prince of the Fire Nation, and you're a fool if you think your actions can _touch_ my honor. But I did promise you that the next time you got in my way, I wouldn't hold back. A Fire Prince keeps his bargains."

The corners of Zhao's grin twisted with sick amusement. "So eager to die, Your Highness?" he asked. "Lucky for you, I'm not in the habit of placating impudent brats. Now, get out of my way," he yelled. Zhao was a bull antelope, impatience flaring his nostrils wide and heating the air around him, but I stood my ground. The writhing wall at my back dimmed to a blazing shield as I gathered in my Chi, preparing to charge an attack. It wasn't difficult to find will for the bending. My anger tendered the smoldering spark within me, feeding the slow burn, at the very depths of which a single image had seared itself—Katara.

I couldn't risk losing her. I was so close… but close to what, I had to wonder. When she had first become my prisoner, the answer to that question would have been obvious. She was the key to capturing the Avatar, to restoring my honor and regaining my father's love, to securing my throne… and, most importantly, to basking in the warm embrace of my homeland again.

I missed the Fire Nation's mild winters, air that didn't freeze my lungs with every breath, and the temperate freedom to strip almost bare so I could practice my Kata without the constriction of robes. I craved her dry, scorching days when the sun sat so close I could almost bend without trying and the heavy, heat-baked scent of the cherry-plum blossoms broiling from the palace orchard. I wanted to run my hands over the bowing, prickly heads of golden wheat stalks, again, as my father inspected his pastoral holdings; I was desperate for the taste of fire flakes and firewater and the shrill, explosive beauty of festival fireworks; and I prayed that when age had stooped my body and snuffed my bending, I would be home when my time in this world was done.

That was, perhaps, what troubled me the most about my exile—the knowledge that if I died here, my father might not let Uncle bear my body home. I couldn't stomach the thought of being burned on foreign soil or—I shuddered to think—of being buried in the ground or slipped into the cold, fathomless depths of the ocean to be eaten by fish. I wanted my pyre raised in the Fire Nation, over soil I loved, so that my ashes would spread and mingle with those of treasured ones who had gone before me—the mighty Fire Lords of the past, Lu Ten… my mother. I did not want my ashes to be scattered abroad, forever wandering the Earth Kingdom, alone and forgotten, my spirit restless and bitter.

Even with the awareness of all my longings, though, my two-year obsession with capturing the Avatar could not explain the way my gut wrenched at the thought of Katara on Zhao's ship, the void I imagined I would feel returning to my empty cabin, or the permanent rend my conscience would suffer if I failed her now. I could not make myself forget the tremor of her body nor the tiny, delicate fist in my robes as we had hidden from Zhao. I had taken her, and it was my duty to see to her safety, if not according to the conventions of honorable warfare, then surely according to the insistence of a noble heart.

"You _will not_ take what is mine, Zhao—not my throne, not the Avatar… and not the girl." _Most certainly not the girl._ "If you want me dead, then fight me, coward. Burn me into this ship deck if you think you can," I taunted him. "Or is the great Admiral Zhao still afraid of a teenager? Maybe, it turns out, courage isn't one of the perks of promotion."

"I'm not going to waste time doling out punishments to children," he said, but his tone was starting to slacken in its resolve. "I'll leave that duty to your father. Perhaps he can finish what he started two years ago." My rage breathed on seething embers until they flickered and flared, my fury suddenly a torch begging to blaze openly.

"Fight me, Zhao!" I bellowed. I could not let him deny me this battle, and I had to keep him angry, reckless, and off balance to win it. "Fight me now, or I swear by my birth right if you leave me alive, there will be nowhere you can run, nowhere you can hide from me. I will find you, and I _will_ destroy you, Zhao. Fight me!"

Zhao stared at me for a long moment; the crackle of my fire and the whimpers of Katara struggling against Zhao's fist were the only sounds on the deck until Zhao took a lurching step toward me. "You all heard, him," Zhao told the surrounding crewmen, his voice low and sinister, as he threw Katara to the ground behind him. Uncle moved forward to help her, pulling the girl backward out of danger's reach, and Zhao turned to point a thick finger at him. "This isn't treason—he left me _no choice_ but to kill him."

"No," Uncle agreed, supporting Katara as she got her feet back under her. "Indeed, I see no other choice, here." Uncle nodded gravely at me.

Realizing what was about to happen, Katara squirmed to break free of Uncle's hold, but his deceptive strength kept her rooted to her spot. I took some comfort from her apparent concern, but anxious regret still hammered my heart against the anvil of my ribs. She loathed me so much, was already so disgusted by my destructive nature, that I hated for her to see me this way, but I had no other options; I would not allow Zhao to take Katara, and he would not leave the ship without her—the Admiral's life was forfeit.

Without the fighting girl to distract him, Zhao suddenly ran at me, crossing half the distance, and then pivoted and struck his leading foot against the metal beneath us. A runnel of fire ate up the deck as it funneled toward me. I turned, passing my hands over the flames, dragging them, coaxing them into a full circle, and sent them charging back at Zhao. He broke them with his stance, and they dissipated harmlessly.

I began to angle off, pacing up the deck, and Zhao mirrored my movements. All of Uncle's lessons turning over in my head, I kept to the basics, pelting Zhao with fire balls and continuous streams that bit at his feet, forcing him backward. Zhao had not practiced his fire bending in all the days he had been on my ship, while I never missed my exercises. I assumed he failed to meditate daily, as well. I would tire him, and then I would move in.

Zhao proved to be resilient, cutting through my flares with a series of bright arcs, which I had to dissipate, duck, or roll under. Between his movements, I charged him with whips of flame, long thrashing lines of orange that flicked toward him, sometimes branding the shoulder or sleeve of his robe. After two or three floggings, I was forced to roll under his attacks again or deflect them out into the open water. As I drew closer, my whips shortened and sharpened into twisting dagger shapes. I used them as I would my swords, slicing and stabbing at him. He countered, fire bursting from his hands wherever my blades threatened to burn.

Back and forth, we charged, our pyrotechnics never pausing, until one of his bouts arced wildly, scorching toward the bridge tower where Uncle and Katara stood. Katara screamed, and my heart froze. I turned my head to see Uncle deflect the flame as Katara drop to the ground, the sleeve of her robe drawn over her face.

And then, suddenly, there was pain and a spreading, sticky warmth.

Zhao had closed the gap, and I looked down between us to where one of his meaty hands was gripping the hilt of a dagger. Zhao twisted the blade, and then silver slid cleanly from the sheath of my stomach. I staggered forward, raising a fist brandishing flame, but Zhao grabbed my forearm with his free hand.

"You should never have challenged me, boy," he hissed. The taste of bile, salt, and iron rose in my throat as he leered at my paling face. "Now I'll take everything I've ever wanted—the girl, first." He grinned lecherously, "the girl… _repeatedly_."

The rip in my stomach was nothing compared to the new pain I felt. I opened my mouth to scream at him, but wrath at the thought of him touching Katara erupted inside of me, spewing hatred and revulsion through every inch of my being. Instead of sound, a rush of fire fled my mouth, blasting Zhao's face, incinerating his flesh, which cracked and peeled away from his nose and gruesome grin of bare teeth. Flames gnarled themselves around his head and shoulders, and the dagger clattered to the deck as Zhao shrieked and fell to his knees. His torture was short lived; I circled my arms and released a flaming bolt against his skull, and then I kicked his corpse onto its side, where it twitched and smoked as my fire burned itself out.

I clutched my stomach, trying to hold my innards where they were, and stared at Zhao's charred body, waiting for it to move again, until I was certain he was truly dead. "Dump him over the side," I ordered, gesturing at a handful of crewmen cowering along the railing. "He doesn't deserve a pyre." Blood was thick in my mouth and I spat it onto the deck, a vivid crimson spray against the soot, and a trail dribbled down my chin. Wiping it away with the sleeve of my robe, I turned and trudged wearily to where Katara and Uncle stood. Katara was still on the ground, hiding her face from Zhao's grizzly end.

I grabbed her by the wrist, and she stared up at me. I had killed for her, and she was mine—bartered with blood, Zhao's death, and one more piece of my tarnished soul. "You belong to me, now," I growled, aggression still coursing through me. I tried to jerk her to her feet to take her back inside, but with the movement, my insides tore in half, and I crumpled toward the metal decking, folding on myself at Katara's knees. I felt strong hands under my arms as Uncle rushed forward to catch me, and the last thing I saw before my world darkened away to nothing was the comforting glow of cerulean eyes.

At least Zhao would never have the chance to take the light from them, again.

* * *

REVIEWS:

Everyone who said nice things about the last chapter… Kisses!

( Sokkantylee)—It's your fault, btw, that Zhao died. Originally, I was going to let him live… I was actually planning to kill off Zuko and Katara (lol), but noooo, you had to be insistent that Zhao be the one to go, and that changed everything… for the better I hope. Now no one dies… well, I take that back. I promised you a bittersweet ending, so _someone_ has to die, but I'm not telling you who. ;)

( ArrayePL)—Zhao found out because when Katara and Zuko fought the night before, she scratched him on the face. That next morning, the Captain let Zuko punch him in the mouth, and then instructed everyone to say, if asked, that Zuko's scratched face, as well as the Captain's busted lip were the result of a sparring match. Later, someone else accidentally mentioned that the Captain had been playing Pai Sho during the time of the alleged sparring … Zhao put two and two together.

( hg-always)—Yes, I will find another way for them to sleep together—it's a favorite scene of mine. If you guys didn't require plot, then I'd just keep them in bed together all the time and talk about how great that is. The nocturnal reunion might not be right away, but it will happen again. I just have other things for them to do at the moment. And, btw, as far as timelines for updates, I try to post something at least once a week. Sometimes I'm faster because there are some chapters (the next few actually) that I've partially prewritten, and sometimes I'll be a little slower because work-work has me too busy or I'm hammering on a from-scratch chapter that's really taking it out of me. But I will make a sincere effort to keep a reasonable posting schedule.

( VoguePepper)—I have written in narrative role plays in the past and written some bits and pieces of fiction, but fanfic seems to have its own demons, namely staying true to characterizations not of your own making. Also, this is the first coherent plot I've tried to string together and bring to fruition. I have some really awesome scenes planned/written for later in the story, so cross your fingers than I can pull it off and don't end up tangled in my own ambition.

( Animus of Masada)—This fic is not so much an "Avatar" fic… I mean, it's in the universe, it relies to some extent on canon events, but it's less about Aang saving the world and more about Katara and Zuko's relationship and their parallel journey toward the realization of it. They're the heroes in this story, so I wanted to keep the perspectives focused on them. However, I have been writing some future chapters from other perspectives if it serves a purpose in revealing something that neither Katara nor Zuko would know about… And I think I've found a place that would benefit from an Aang perspective. It's not going to be coming up for a while, though.

( SilverScreamer)—I'm writing you a badass chapter from Uncle Iroh's viewpoint, but you have to wait until almost the end to get it.


	8. Intervention

Chapter 8 – Intervention

KATARA

* * *

Zuko never smiled.

Iroh rarely seemed to frown.

The old man smiled when he was happy, raucous with a belly too full of food and a mind too full of ale. He smiled the off-color smile of a man accustomed to the jokes of sailors and soldiers left too long with only their own gender to sanction their stories. He smiled wistfulness and calm assurance. And he smiled inappropriate humor into the absurd situations in which I could find nothing to be glad of. Never had nephew and uncle been cut from such drastically different weaves. Perhaps smiles found no harbor in Zuko's unyielding broodiness and the marred landscape of his twisted features and drifted aimlessly until they landed in the safety of Iroh's round, welcoming face, heedless of the events into which they stumbled.

Now, for instance, was not a moment I would have greeted with a smile. Yet, Iroh's gentle mouth turned up at its corners as he smoothed blankets over his nephew's form. "There, there. Here we are. Rest," he told the Prince.

Such smiles were not something I had expected to so define the Dragon of the West. Maybe, I pondered, they were not smiles at all. Maybe they were mirthful cloaks that sheltered irony, bitter wisdom too profound to be voiced outright with no grin to sweeten its truth, or sorrowful resignation to things he could not change. Such idle thoughts were irrelevant, though—I appreciated Iroh's smiles, but I had no time to learn their language.

"Uncle." A pale hand lifted from the mattress, weakness lending it an alien tremor, and was captured between Iroh's calloused palms before exhaustion could drag it down again.

"Zuko," Iroh gently scolded, "Do not speak. You must save your strength."

"Uncle," Zuko persisted, swallowing once and closing his eyes briefly. He opened them again, and they fought to focus on the living world, to find the face they recognized best. "You will tell my father that I was victorious." The whispered words, despite the hitch of pain they carried, still held all the authority of a voice that knew well its own power—it was the plea in his eyes that made the words a request between nephew and uncle. "You will tell him that I was not a coward."

Iroh opened his mouth to assure the broken Prince that he, himself, would tell Ozai these things when he was welcomed home—at least that was what _I_ could imagine telling him as he lay dying—but then, Iroh closed his mouth and simply nodded. "I will tell him," the gray General promised.

As if that promise were all the business Zuko had left in the world, his shoulders relaxed, and he settled deeper into his bedding. He closed his eyes again. "See to the… water… be..." he began to order, but then Zuko's head lolled to the right, his breaths grew short and shallow, and Iroh reverently lowered the Prince's hand back to his side.

"I've made him as comfortable as I can," the ship's physician, Master Chen, told Iroh in a funerary tone. I wondered if Dragon's tears were anything like a crocodile's as I saw them drop onto the front of the old General's robes. "The wound is very deep," Chen continued. "I'm not sure how he survived as long as he has, let alone found the breath to kill Zhao."

"He was fighting for something that was important to him," Iroh explained, sadly, casting a glance in my direction, "more important, perhaps, than even he realizes."

The physician's gaze also flicked in my direction, locking onto my dispassionate expression as he continued. "There are few hopes left to him now," he informed Iroh, even though he was looking at me. "We must pray to the Spirits for a miracle." Chen dropped his stare and his mouth pursed slightly—it was an unsettlingly pensive look—and several moments passed before he took a breath and spoke. "Otherwise, it is only a matter of time." He paused. "I don't believe he will awaken, again, but I shall leave you to say your goodbyes." That thoughtful expression filled the space between us as the physician turned and left the room.

Zuko looked small, bundled in the blankets Iroh had laid out over him. In addition to the dagger wound, the Prince had suffered small burns along his arms, hands, and head—a tongue lashing from deflected and dissipated flames, mild in comparison to the damage that was killing him. The most noticeable was the singeing of his ponytail; the black, silky plume had been scorched down to a blunted tuft. He would have been extremely displeased about that if he were able to notice. The combination of the faint smell of burnt hair and flesh, the coppery tinge of fresh blood, and the overpowering scent of Chen's salves was slightly nauseating.

Iroh had not watched the doctor leave. He remained kneeling at Zuko's bedside, his eyes never straying from his nephew, and I felt like an intruder. When Zuko had collapsed, I had been forgotten in the commotion. It had been the first time I had been on the deck since I had been taken below on the day of my capture, and no one had been paying any attention to me at all. I could have gone anywhere, and yet, as Iroh ordered several men to lift Zuko and carry him to his room, I had followed—pulled along by some invisible tether, drawn after the Prince as if his importance in my life were sufficient to produce its own gravity. No one had objected to my presence during his examination or treatment, but now I felt like a voyeur into Iroh's private, tragic moment. I wasn't sure if he realized I was still lurking at the far side of the room, but then his voice startled me.

"Did you know that Zuko writes poetry?" Iroh asked.

I turned away, staring at the flames of Zuko's meditation candles, flickering as they began to burn down the last of their wicks. Soon, the room would be dark and cold.

"He did," Iroh corrected himself, "before...." I glanced back at him, unable to resist the deep, slow timber of his voice. The old man's fingers grazed the side of Zuko's face with a gentleness I had never seen, skirting the scar around his eye as if it were too sacred to touch. I told myself that it was impossible for anyone to love Zuko that much, even as I felt my own fingers stretch toward him.

"But there are still verses within him," Iroh added, resolutely, sounding certain such poems would one day be voiced. "He wrote one about the Sun in love with the Moon and the seasons that separate them. Would you like to hear it?" he asked me. He waited a moment, and when I didn't answer, he continued. "In any case, I think I would like to recite it, now. It seems most appropriate to the occasion." Iroh's voice was calm, but beneath the strength, a lost chord groped for an anchor to keep it from drifting away on the tide of sorrow swelling within him. He took a deep breath and began reciting the verse, his lyrical voice lending the words a kind of music I could never have imagined being conjured by Zuko's gravelly tones.

"…_She softens the night.  
He burnishes old leaves red,  
Tempered by her touch._

_Held by frigid arms,  
A lone wolf bays, a small child  
Crying for his sphere._

_Rising, he sees her.  
Dressing it in greens and blues,  
He wakes up the world._

_Too high, the fire flames,  
Searching for guileless tender.  
Nations' pyres await._

_Iron ships stand still.  
Once whole, they part with breaking.  
The eclipse passes…."_

Iroh's soft-strong voice caught, the tightness of tears in his throat throwing up a blockade against the rest of his words. After a few long moments, Iroh spoke again, and I wasn't certain whether he was addressing me or just speaking aloud the things his nephew would never have been willing to hear had he been awake.

"How do you tell a boy that the world is not fair?" Iroh starred at the scar, revealed in its entirety, and shook his head. "It is something he learns on his own… no matter how much an old man would protect him from it. You have learned that lesson better than most, my nephew." Iroh stood and took a deep breath.

"His life has never been easy," Iroh's brows dipped sternly, and I saw steely pride in the way he straightened and jerked his head in a salutatory nod. "But he does not wallow. His burdens drive him forward while he seeks to change the world." The older man blinked and his countenance softened. "He is, in some ways, still idealistic. That is the boy he always was; I believe it is the man he could be, again, someday." Iroh's soft sigh was like the final breath of spring.

"Sometimes I think his way would be easier if he had been born to another nation. If he were a Waterbender, he would raise the waves and scrub the world of its trouble; were he an Earthbender, he would move mountains until the world was to his liking, but he is a Firebender." Mournful judgment sat heavy in Iroh's tone. I expected him to continue, but the General was quiet for a long time.

"Then how will he do it?" I asked, as if I actually believed Zuko could somehow reshape the rest of the world as he had reshaped my existence. I frowned annoyance at the suddenly pleading quality of my own voice.

Iroh was starring at Zuko again. I had the impression that he rarely found the opportunity for unhindered scrutiny of his nephew, and I didn't think it was the injuries or the scar or the boy he once was that Iroh saw as he watched him now. Iroh was trying to tell the future… or perhaps he was weighing the possibilities of many futures. "He will let his passion, will, and honor change it… or Zuko will follow in his father's footsteps and burn it to the ground." Iroh was serious as he turned to me and added, "He needs help choosing his path."

I turned away again. I did not believe these things about Zuko. I held tightly to my certainty that he was nothing but a spoiled prince, self-centered and spiteful. He knew only destruction, and no one could help him past that. It occurred to me that I was the one who should be smiling. Zhao was gone; Zuko was dying. Iroh would not keep me here. Whenever Iroh looked at me, I saw the bridled sympathy in his eyes—I was a butterfly in a jar, one whom he longed to set free. This was the day of _my_ victory—not Zuko's.

But the smile did not come. I stubbornly tried to force the corners of my mouth upward where only a grimace formed. My stomach roiled with apprehension and the prophetic knowledge of the impending wrongness that would cling to the world within the hour. The sound of the door closing behind Iroh was like the sealing of a tomb, and I turned to find myself alone with Zuko.

His prone form looked absurd, bleeding and broken and bandaged. If I had not seen the wound myself, I would have thought his ghostly pallor was a trick of the light—a trick of the spirits, maybe—that made Zuko the Unstoppable seem so close to death.

_Get up…_

Next to the pallet still sat the bowl of water, tinged pink with Zuko's blood, beckoning to me. My hands moved before I told them to, and the water rose high above the porcelain slopes, a pulsing column ready to do my will.

_Say something…_

The column waited.

I waited.

_Berate me for being out of arm's reach… Threaten to throw me overboard for bending… _

Finally, I lowered my hands, and the water settled. I stood, there, watching Zuko.

_Just don't die._

Our earliest legends told of Spirits who formed the shaping of the world; they sent a bird to lay its egg in a boat, but the wind rocked the boat and broke the egg, which spilled out into the ocean. So that the egg would not be wasted, the Spirits spread the white to create the ice, lifted the blue dome of the eggshell to the heavens to make the sky, and fixed the yolk in place to be the sun. I somehow knew that there were important, yet unseen things in this world—pillars of destiny, stanchions of fate—that were unknowing upheld by this dying Fire Prince—things in the grand scheme that rested on his shoulders alone, that only he could lift or fix.

I found myself at his side, kneeling over his body, my hands hovering uncertainly above him.

He was the Guiding Star, unaware of the courses that men set by his shine; he was the North Wind, blowing towards its own purpose and unknowingly filling the sails that took men out to sea; and he was the Sun, the giver of light and warmth and life. Was it his fault that stars sit too high to see the ships they guide, that the wind blows men afoul as often as keeps them on their courses, or that those who try to touch the sun will burn by it? As much as I should hate him for everything that he had done, I still could not imagine a world where Zuko did not exist.

I was frightened. Even the first time I had met Zuko on the shores of my village, I had considered him more a force of nature than a man—a blaze, burning and blinding, that could never be extinguished. Now, the thought that it would take only a puff to put out that fire forever left me queasy.

My life was a series of uncertainties. From the moment I had freed Aang from the iceberg, everything I knew had changed, and for better or worse, nothing would ever be the same. Only a few bold features remained a constant in the landscape of my new existence: the hope that the Avatar had brought to the world, my love for my friends and family… and Zuko, the Prince who hunted us so relentlessly. I could not help but wonder, if Zuko could fall, then how soon before the rest of my world tumbled down around me? I realized, as much as I needed to help another person, as much as I needed to bend again and have that bending mean something, I also needed Zuko to be whole. I needed to feel the strength in his arms and see the fire in his eyes, again. I needed to know that the things I had learned to believe in were still true.

I was a hawk, crying for the sun.

I pulled the blankets from his torso and peeled away the wrappings over the angry tear in his body. The wound gaped at me, fearsome and daunting, and I swallowed down my doubts that there was anything I could do for this mysterious, foul-tempered young man around whom my universe had slowly begun to revolve. For the first time in weeks, I called the water to my hands, unaccompanied by Zuko's bullying threats as he stood on the other side of the screen, and, as the healing waters pulsed blue, I touched the wound in his stomach.

"Live, Zuko," I told him. "If I belong to you, then come back to me."

* * *

REVIEWERS:

Again, my greatest thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed; I truly appreciate the feedback, the suggestions, and the questions. I'm glad you liked the chapter and weren't turned off by my awkward combat. I want to briefly address something from reviews for the previous chapter, _Confrontation_:

"…_I grabbed her by the wrist, and she stared up at me. I had killed for her, and she was mine—bartered with blood, Zhao's death, and one more piece of my tarnished soul. "You belong to me, now," I growled, aggression still coursing through me…."_

This particular sentence seems to have caught some attention and generated a few questions, so I thought some sort of explanation might be in order. Zuko, who has had so much taken away from him, has been taught to be possessive of the little he has left—_my_ honor, _my_ throne, _my_ birthright, _my_ mission, _my_ Avatar, and now… _my_ Katara. She has been lumped into the category of things that belong to Zuko—things he is obsessed with either regaining or retaining—primarily because she is his current path to the Avatar, and this concept of ownership has just been reinforced by Zhao's attempt to take her away. At the same time, Zuko is developing feelings for Katara but doesn't understand them and, as broken people tend to do, expresses those feelings inappropriately.

So this sentence _is_ supposed to be rather starkly possessive, indicating a turn that Zuko has taken in his perception of Katara's place in his life (as a Prince, Zuko feels a sense of entitlement—I want her in some way; therefore, she's mine). In the next chapter, we'll get a look at what his relationship with Katara might have been if his life had gone differently, and Zuko will spend the rest of the story trying to reconcile his current state with the healthier ideal. In _Confrontation_, Zuko is also somewhat resentful of Katara—thus, the violent tilt to that interaction at the end. He didn't just fight to protect her; he was forced to kill his father's Admiral, an action that Zuko assumes will have repercussions. This is the first of many concessions that Zuko is going to have to make to keep Katara in his life, and he's not always going to be happy about it.

(**Preemptive mourners**)—Lol. Apparently, I shouldn't joke about these things, so for the record, I'm not going to kill Zuko or Katara. No matter what it looks like, just take a deep breath; I'm not going to screw you over that way.

(**Adamski the Shirtless**)—I use drabblishness to pass time. I will probably post drabblish things from Katara's POV during Zuko's convalescence. I'd like to do a couple of more, each, at some point afterward. Awesome cosplay, btw; I got a kick out of that.

(**hg-always**)—Ah, I'm predictable. I guess there's really no other course of action when you severely wound someone and Katara's around. I'm actually going to focus a few chapters on the healing and their respective reactions to it.

(**AnnaAza**)—Katara will never be Zuko's slave… although, I'm toying with the idea of passing her off as one in a later chapter, but overall, this is not that kind of fic. ;) And I don't think that Katara will ever feel like she owes Zuko—I mean, she never would have been threatened by Zhao if Zuko hadn't captured her in the first place…. Actually, I take that back, Zuko actually _will_ do something at Katara's request in a later chapter, and she'll owe him for a while (if I stay on that story path).

(**ArrayePL**)—I wouldn't put it past Zhao to cheat at an Agni Kai. It's a technicality since we're passed it and it's not going to figure very prominently in future chapters, but this wasn't actually an Agni Kai. Zhao assumed it was, but Zuko wasn't battling Zhao for honor—so they were just trying to kill each other, old school brawl style. Zhao's use of a blade wasn't _as_ dishonorable as if he whipped it out in a ritual duel. He's still a schmuck, though, and deserved to die.

(**Yoemen94**)—Yeah, sorry about the cliffhangers. Since it's a TV show, I have a tendency to end the chapter where I feel like a commercial break would naturally have occurred. I'll try not to do anything reminiscent of a Season finale, though.


	9. Illusion

Sorry for that long wait. This chapter took much longer to wrestle down, but in exchange, I give you… 3x the length! I feel like I should give some explanation up front about this one because I've deviated from my normal pattern. While Katara is healing Zuko, he dreams, and the parts from his viewpoint are what he experiences inside that dream; I've also interjected a couple of sections from Katara's viewpoint, so that we can see what's happening in the real world. It's basically a backdrop to draw parallels from for later plot points. It's also about giving both Zuko and Katara a sense of familiarity with each other in sort of separate (therefore safer) realities.

It's not _quite_ the way I want it, but I've rearranged it and rewritten it so much that, at this point, I feel like I need to just shove it out here already so I can move on with the plot (and so you don't have to continue waiting on me) because there are a lot of other scenes I'm dying to get to. There were about a thousand plot points I wanted to make here, but they didn't all mesh together, so I went round and round with which ones to let go of; therefore, I apologize for any lingering awkwardness in the flow. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint, confuse, or come off as weird.

I've also managed to get someone to agree to beta read for me, which I'm very excited about! Given that, the posting schedule might be a little longer to accommodate the review cycle. I apologize for building in more wait, but I think you'll get a better story out of it. So without further ado, I give you _Illusion_.

* * *

Chapter 9 – Illusion

ZUKO

* * *

"If Azula thinks she can just take you away from me," I declared, "I'll… I'll challenge her to an Agni Kai!"

Katara rolled her eyes. "You can't challenge your sister to an Agni Kai, Zuko—it would ruin our Spa Day."

I sunk dramatically to my knees and flopped over like a dead fish, lamenting my predestined abandonment. "You hate the spa," I sullenly decided for her, and Katara bent a splash of water into my face. I gasped at the unexpected chill with which she had laced it, sputtering, "What was that for?"

She shrugged, dropping down into the grass next to me. "You're sweaty," she said as she rolled onto her back and shaded her face with her naked arm, hiding her eyes from the sun and, consequently, from me. I sighed and stared at the cloudless, noonday sky. If her eyes had been open, I would have said the pure blue above us was a reflection of _them_—at least that was how I ordered their significance. Her eyes had been created first, obviously, and then, set aside to await the birth of a perfect face. Every other blue thing in the world had been fashioned as a poor approximation to pacify mortals until the sacred color could be revealed. I would have commanded her to open them, but Katara paid little attention to my commands. I was a spoiled Prince, she always told me—not the Avatar.

I casually turned my head to watch her. The line of my gaze followed the soft underside of her sheltering arm, down to where red fabric hid a chest still heaving slightly from our bending exercises. She had traded her cold-weather robes for the lighter weight of Fire Nation garb—gifts from my mother—and the linen bodice of her practice clothes clung to her figure on its way upward where it fastened behind her neck, baring her shoulders and the v-shaped patch of glistening skin below her throat.

"Ah-hem," Kana, our constant chaperone, coughed in warning from her seat beneath a shade tree, and I quickly looked away.

"You're sweaty, too," I noted, sourly.

"Which means," Katara quipped, "that I need a spa day." I groaned again, and she added, "I haven't seen Azula, not to mention Tylee or Mai, since the last time I was here."

"Iwasn't even _here_ the last time you were here!" I bellowed, sitting up cross legged suddenly. "_I_ was with Uncle in the southern Earth Kingdom, still discussing trade tariffs well after you left!"

"And where did you go, immediately after that?" she asked, and I could imagine her eyebrows raising beneath her arm.

"Be quiet!" I warned her, my voice low.

She laughed and tilted her head toward me, conspiratorially peeking at me from beneath her elbow. The sliver of blue was a meager meal, serving to only whet my appetite for her entire gaze. "You didn't even _tell_ your father that you detoured to the South Pole, _did_ you?" she assumed, lightly rolling her head back and forth against the ground.

"He would say it was a waste of time," I countered.

"It _was_ a waste of time," she agreed; "_my_ time. I didn't get a single thing done the whole week you were there." She started to stand and I sighed, grabbing her wrist.

"Stay," I commanded. "We can spar again or," my voice turned pleading, "or I can decimate you at Pai Sho."

"I thought gentlemen let ladies win at Pai Sho," she immediately chastised me.

"If gentlemen want their backsides frozen to their chairs by a Waterbender who can't stand wins being _given _to her, then I would agree," I countered. "Otherwise, I suggest they fight for every tile."

She narrowed her eyes at me, taking a slow, deep breath through her teeth as she made up her mind. My hopeful expression fell away as she blew it out again and shook her head. "I'm supposed to tell you that Sokka wants you to go sailing with him this afternoon, anyway," she said as she pulled free of my hand. She stood, brushed the grass from her clothes, and left the sparring yard to walk toward the Fire Palace. My gaze followed her until she disappeared, but she never looked to see if I was still watching. She knew I would be.

"Life's not fair," I decreed, sprawling back into the grass.

"Hmph. You're telling me," Gran Gran echoed.

* * *

KATARA

* * *

Zuko was no longer in threat of dying on me. His injuries were far from mended, true, and any interruption of my daily ministrations would no doubt send him into a relapse, but he was faring better every day. After I had reluctantly practiced my fledgling healing skills on him the first time—after Iroh had returned to find me passed out with my head on Zuko's chest and the Prince breathing steadily—the relieved uncle had called the ship's doctor to pronounce the miracle that he and the physician had been hoping for—had manipulated me to get, I assumed.

Chen supervised the next few of my healing sessions, but soon, realizing his presence was useless to me, he began only coming to the cabin in the mornings and evenings to check on Zuko's progress. Too exhausted from my daily efforts to do anything else but watch as Iroh forced broth down his nephew's throat during the coming week, I slept in a nest of blankets next to Zuko's bed, reaching a hand out now and then to feel for fever.

Iroh carefully had shaven away the singed hair of the princely ponytail, and Zuko's scalp was covered in dark fuzz that grew longer each day he slept. It grew faster than I would have expected, hastened, I assumed, by the renewal of his damaged tissues—or maybe I was just too tired to properly tell time anymore. I was weary from exertion, from doubt, and from worry, but the healing seemed successful.

Now that I was accustomed to looking for it—in the same way I would naturally seek a flint in the darkness or a blanket's edge during the cold of the night—the continual rise and fall of Zuko's chest had become a comforting sight, one I felt compelled to verify at least 3 times each hour. Therein lay the irony, of course. I was free, more or less—Iroh never seeming to care where I was or what I was doing—and yet hopelessly chained to this ship by my concern for Zuko, never even straying far from his cabin in case something went wrong, he grew worse, or he happened to stir. Why any sane person would want to be there when he regained consciousness, I couldn't imagine. Still, I had devoted too much time and energy to ensuring the Prince would survive to miss out on the golden moment my charge began glaring and bellowing about my having been allowed to bend while he slept—mostly, I assumed, because glaring and bellowing would have been a welcome change.

The healing _seemed _successful; therefore, I was at a loss to explain why Zuko would not wake up. Whatever was keeping him in this sleep, Iroh had commented one evening, was not finished with him yet—we could only wait patiently for his return. I sat, helpless, beside his bed and wondered if he would find his way back, soon.

* * *

ZUKO

* * *

I paced the corridor. The sconces along either side of the hallway flickered evidence of my emotional maelstrom. The flames dimmed with doubt, sparked with apprehension, wavered in sync with the sick anxiety twisting my stomach, and flared with nervous elation as I mentally rehearsed my speech. I felt like I had been waiting in the corridor for hours, but my sister apparently still had not pardoned Katara from her shopping sentence. For the hundredth time, I patted the front of my robe to feel the comforting bulge that rested in the inner chest pocket. "Where are you, Katara?" I sighed impatiently.

_What will she think_, I wondered. _Will she like it? Will she even take it?... Of course she'll _take_ it_, I told myself and then scoffed at the ridiculous idea of her rejection… _of course she will. _She cared for me a great deal, I was sure, and it would be only natural for her to accept it…_ She will—I know she will..._

_But what if she doesn't? Oh, what if she doesn't like the design? What if_—

"Your Highness," my pacing was interrupted by a page who cautiously did not acknowledge the fires currently having tiny seizures in their little braziers above us. "The Fire Lady wishes for you to attend her in her chambers." I nodded once to dismiss him and then set out in the direction of the royal apartments, on the opposite side of the palace from the guest wing; my mother's summons could not be ignored. I would have to wait until dinner to see Katara. At least I would be able to dance with her afterward—be able to touch her free from the guise of sparring, free from the incessant sound of Kana clearing ancient phlegm from her throat to scare my hands back to my sides.

The royal wing might as well have been a different country. The farther I walked, the more certain I became that I was covering leagues instead of yards. But it wasn't only the distance that separated the two sides of the palace. The guest wing was a haven for foreign diplomats, designed with an open portico that overlooked the lake. The airy halls coaxed in the breeze from the harbor below the volcano in which the palace sat on one side and framed the edges of the cradling crater on the other—all three elements meant to be within easy sight for the homesick observer. The royal wing was older, gilded in marble, gold, and velvets. The air was stale with incense and smoke-filled centuries of occupation by the world's most powerful Firebenders. A subtle smog of heat and shadow clung to the darkened corners of its vaulted ceilings. No matter the evenly spaced sconces that ticked off the interminable lengths of identical hallway, the wing remained dark in a way that could never be lifted nor escaped. It was cloistered, protected… secretive.

I had always thought I felt ghosts here, but today, there was something else, too—a shade that lingered just out of sight, whispering and disappearing the moment I turned my head to catch an imagined glimpse of black. I shuddered and tried to ignore the feeling of being watched.

When I reached my destination, I grasped the brass handles of the heavy door to my mother's apartments, and leaned forward, pushing both sides open at once. "Mother?" I called out, glancing across the formal parlor to her dressing room. At the sound of my voice, she stepped into view, radiant in a floor-length gown of red silk. Black-worked fire lilies, climbing up the side of her skirt, twined in full bloom around her slender form. The high collar didn't quite cover the long, ivory neck that gracefully held up stately twists of raven hair piled onto her crown.

"Zuko," she greeted, beckoning me with outstretched hands from across the room. "How handsome you are. Come here, where I can see you better."

I strode across her apartment and clasped her fingers, squeezing them lightly before letting go. She surveyed my dress robes, and then she straightened my high collar, swiped agile hands across my shoulders, and tugged on my sleeves, all of which I endured with practiced patience. When she reached for the emblem in my topknot that ranked me as Crown Prince, however, I pulled my head back and caught her hands before they could disturb the arrangement.

"I'm almost _seventeen_, Mother," I told her gently. "I'm too old for inspections."

"You're right," she said as she lifted her hand from mine, touched the backs of her fingers to my cheek briefly, and smiled. "It's difficult for a mother to let go, even when a son has grown as tall as you have. Azula stopped needing me when she was seven." I kissed her on the forehead, and she drew back, nodding daintily, her nose wrinkling slightly as she subconsciously mourned my ever-escaping childhood. "As always, you look fine as you are."

She turned to the ladies who had dressed her and kindly dismissed them from the room, giving us privacy, and then she moved away from me and returned to her dressing table. As she sat on the tufted bench before the large mirror over the table, she opened a black-lacquered box, adorned with tortoise shell inlays and pulled out a copper-green string of beads. "Come help me with my necklace, Zuko," she said, holding up the delicate jade, and her reflection smiled at me from the mirror.

"Azula has her eye on these," she laughed as I moved behind her. "Your uncle keeps bringing them from Ba Sing Se, and she keeps stealing them away. She must have more Jade than the spirits by now, but she hasn't found my best hiding places, yet."

I grunted moodily at Azula's antics, not quite having forgiven her tendency of repeatedly stealing away _my_ gem during the course of this past month. I clasped the string of beads behind my mother's slender neck and folded my fingers over her shoulders. "There," I said, looking up at her in the mirror again, "they look love—"

I fell abruptly silent when I realized I did not recognize the figures staring back at me from the glass. The supreme sorrow of the pale woman under my hands had never touched _my_ mother's face, and the young man standing behind her—angry and bitter, his head mostly shaved so that nothing hid the gruesome maiming of his left eye—couldn't possibly have been me. Still, I watched his mouth curtly form the word I cried out. "Mother?" I panicked, tightening my hold on her shoulders, and quickly turned her around to face me.

"Zuko!" her eyes were wide—startled and concerned—but not sad. I looked back into the mirror. All I saw was the mother I knew and myself—my smooth face, clear amber eyes, and long black hair, swept into its topknot. "Are you alright, Zuko?" my mother asked me, reaching a hand up to touch my arm. My heart pounded. I stared into the mirror for a long moment, afraid the image might change again.

"I'm fine," I finally told her, taking a deep breath. "I'm… I'm fine." I shook my head. "My eyes are just playing tricks." I tried to smile.

She squeezed my arm, and her concern melted into a knowing look. "You're nervous," she guessed.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not nervous." She let it go, but I could see the quirk in the corners of her mouth as she began fastening matching jade pendants to her earlobes. _How did she know?_ She always knew. My entire life, I'd never managed to hide a thing from her. She was obviously a witch. Or maybe she had spies—spies all over the palace, feeding her information about my every move. Or was it more likely, I asked myself, that everything I felt of late was constantly written all over my face—my goofy, love struck, calf-eyed, mooning face—whenever those who truly knew me looked upon it? I sighed. _That's the face I probably stare at Katara with. Great._

While my mother straightened her necklace, dusted a powdered brush down the bridge of her nose, and smoothed errant tendrils into her updo, a slow shift of my feet turned to a shuffle and then, to wide, pendulous arcs of agitated pacing. She did not look at me; her gaze remained fixed to her reflection, and with effortless serenity, my mother waited, finding successively more minute details of her appearance to primp, until I was ready to speak my mind. I stopped walking, facing the empty half of the room, and began chewing the inside of my cheek.

There were not many people in the Fire Nation in whom I confided; for most matters, I typically kept my own counsel. It would have been redundant to consult my best friend—we all have a small, guiding voice within us, and mine already sounded suspiciously like Katara's, so accustomed I was to her freely voicing her opinions, whether I asked for them or not, as if she were the one wearing a crown—and in this particular case, disastrous, I was sure. I sometimes sent a hawk to Sokka, who soaked up delicate problems like a sponge and squeezed them down to practical matters—often served with a side of mockery but always lacking the pity or complications that only would have made me feel worse. I rarely sought Azula's advice, fearing she would take it as license to interfere. My father did not believe in "problems;" any questionable situation was simply an opportunity to demonstrate decisiveness. And Uncle, when he was actually in the city, could be counted on for a proverb or two and a calming cup of tea. But truly vexing problems, those that threatened to affect the fabric of my being, were placed in my mother's capable and compassionate hands.

"If you love someone," I suddenly asked. "Should it matter where they're from? I mean, if someone, let's say… a Prince from the Earth Kingdom decided he loved," I shrugged, "one of the scribal girls who live with the Air Nomads… That would be alright, wouldn't it?"

My mother's laugh rang back to me—not tinkling chimes like ladies of court were taught to fake, but deep, rich, dulcet sounds like those that called souls to prayer—tempting me to turn around. "Why do you ask, hmm?" My mother's eyes measured me and her smile grew sympathetic, as if she, too, somehow knew the pain of being routinely separated from half your soul. "She's a lovely girl," she finally said, softly, and then added, "and very lucky, Zuko, to have won such a noble heart."

"Father has been talking to General Li," I said, my expression dour.

"Don't make assumptions. Not every conversation your father has with a man who has a daughter is about a marriage contract," she assured me.

I sighed. "He'll make me marry to seal some trade agreement or as a reward to one of his advisors," I said, certainty gripping me like a vise. "He doesn't understand."

"Then make him understand," my mother said, "When you love someone, you must do everything in your power to fight for them and always believe that there will be a way. That is what love is," she told me, and I saw that sympathy again. "It is sacrifice, but above all else, Zuko… it is hope."

* * *

KATARA

* * *

The first few days, even though his color had improved and the physician had pronounced his breathing satisfactory, Zuko had remained still. Soon, though, he restlessly began moving, prompted by bouts of minor fever as the fire within him tried to burn away infection—a reassuring sign of health for a Firebender, Chen informed me—and then, as Zuko grew stronger, he began talking in his sleep.

He mumbled about Agni Kais and Azula—"His _sister_," Iroh had provided and, when I had shrugged and asked what it mattered, added, "It doesn't. You just looked… _unhappy_, for some reason." I would have been happier if Zuko hadn't said _my _name with relative frequency, ordering and threatening me—_be quiet_ and _I'll decimate you_ seemed to be favorites of his delirium. These phrases did not shock me, though; Zuko said worse things out loud, in full control of himself; there was no reason to believe dementia would grant him a filter. When he was like that—full of rage and darkness, even in his sleep—I did think to turn my back and leave him, giving him to whatever fate he'd earned. But every time I finally gathered the gumption to reach for the door handle, it amazed me how quickly a single moan or cryptic, mumbled word could drag me back to my vigil. Sometimes, his brow would knit into puzzlement, worry, or contemplation, and he would whisper things that sounded unnatural coming from his lips.

_Mother…_

_If you love someone_…

_Hope…_

These were the words that spurred the gentleness in my hands. I had never touched Zuko. I had hit him, I had clawed him, I had pushed him, I had shirked from him, but I had never consciously _touched_ him before. Perhaps if I were older, perhaps if there had been Waterbenders in my own tribe, or if we had managed to make it to the North Pole before I'd been captured, then I wouldn't have bumbled through Zuko's healing with as much frustration as I had. Whether by luck, intuition, or some hand greater than mine, I managed to find and heal his hurts—but not without experimentation. I spent a great deal of time _touching _Zuko during those weeks.

I felt least conspicuous about handling his torso. The bulk of his injuries were along his stomach, giving my hands an excuse to be there as I worked my healing. I began to feel more and more of the solid muscles, the smooth skin, and chiseled lines knit together every day. But I also checked the rest of him, running my fingers over his too-warm neck and chest, brushing my palms along his strong shoulders and arms, and kneading his lean calves and thighs—partly because I wasn't sure what was happening inside his body and wondered if I should be able to feel an imbalance in the currents of his Chi, and partly because I knew that lack of use caused atrophy. As a point of professional pride, if I was to be his physician, I was not going to let Zuko complain about his condition upon waking. It also hadn't escaped my memory that it was Zuko's physical prowess that had saved me from a fate at Zhao's hands; surely, Zhao was not the only danger I faced. It seemed an unwinnable situation—knowing that the better Zuko got, the smaller my window of escape grew—but logic said I still served myself in keeping Zuko strong.

So I rubbed the muscles, stretched the tendons, and exercised the limbs, and soon, there were few parts of Zuko's body with which I wasn't familiar. I knew almost every line, every curve, and every mark, even if I didn't know their histories. I even knew his scar.

I had avoided it at first. Iroh had given it such clearance, and I knew from experience that, although it dominated his appearance, Zuko did not like people looking at it. And so, I touched almost every part of him except his scar… at first. I was his physician, wasn't I? There was no reason I should be squeamish about a scar—no reason an unconscious patient should think he had the right to intimidate me away from it. And so, with a fair amount of morbid curiosity, I began spending a great deal of time touching Zuko's scar.

I routinely sat on the edge of his mattress, exploring the planes of his face. Settling my fingers lightly on the straight bridge of his nose, I would stroked upward to his brow where my fingers parted, each set sweeping outward toward his temples. I marveled at the dichotomy of Zuko's features—the warm porcelain under the fingers of my left hand and the roughly boiled leather under my right. Eventually, my fingers would slide down his high, noble's cheekbones, caressing the strong curves of his jaw to rejoin at his duplicitous mouth—duplicitous because Zuko had lips that frowned, that smirked, that sulked… but when they weren't doing those things, Zuko had lips that beckoned. I couldn't reconcile the soft lure of his mouth with the harsh, condemnation that so often spoiled its seduction, knowing too well that this was a mouth that had killed a man recently. But the appeal of his mouth was not the only thing about Zuko that surprised me.

I had not expected Zuko, of all people, to have such a strong, steady, unwavering heartbeat. It was a deep and solid sound, the rhythm never changing pace, never weakening nor waning—the most constant sound I had ever heard. His skin heated my cheek as I pressed my ear to his chest; the drum beneath his sternum pounded, tireless and demanding, as if constantly calling his body to battle; and all around me, the smoky, spicy scent I had grown so accustomed to conjured elaborate imaginings of silk and red banners, of crowns glittering under an impossibly hot sun, of hearth fires in dark and mysterious places I'd never seen, and of smoldering intentions, decadence, and danger. I found myself, during these private hours, unable to resist my exploration of Zuko—his mysteries, previously protected by his temper and royal sanctity, laid bare to me while he slept.

If anything was going to spur Zuko to indignant consciousness, it would have been the casualness with which I handled his royal person. Still, he slept, unaware and seemingly uncaring that he was at my constant mercy. If Iroh was right and his dreams did hold some appeal to keep him back from his waking life, then it must have been very tempting.

* * *

ZUKO

* * *

My grip tightened on her waist as she draped her fingers over the top of my other hand, and I finally sighed with relief. I hated state dinners, especially when Katara was in the palace. As Crown Prince, I was required by a thousand years of protocol to sit at my father's right hand. Dignitaries were seated on each side of the long table, arranged according to rank. Down the side closest to my mother and Azula had sat the chief General of the Earth Kingdom military, named official representative of Ba Sing Se by seal of the 52nd Earth King, flanked by a series of advisors and underlings who had trailed him to the Fire Nation. On my side, just around the linen-draped corner, had sat Chief Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe, next to his wife, his son, his daughter, and his mother-in-law. Katara had been close enough to watch, but too far to touch, to whisper to, or to secretly trade favored foods with. But now, as the strings and pipes of the royal orchestra thrummed and whistled a familiar melody, we were separated only by the space on which propriety insisted.

We danced chastely, my fingers gripping at the fabric of her dress where I held her, wondering what her skin felt like beneath the silk, whether it would be just as soft as the material, whether it would be the same deep tan of her face and arms or paler for having been hidden from the sun. I banished such thoughts, fearing they would paint my cheeks with an ignoble blush… or worse; my long, formal robes were forgiving, but I doubted I would be able to dance comfortably for long if I didn't keep my mind from wandering.

After a few dances, she complained about the heat, so I waited for the right moment—the exact moment a portly couple from the Western Province passed to our left, cutting off Kana's line of sight—and then, I twirled Katara out onto the terrace. At the height of her spin, she lost her footing, and I instinctively caught her. She was breathless from dancing, her cheeks flushed with exertion and happiness, and her blue eyes sparkled in the moonlight. Despite their cool color, I felt warm, too. I set her on her feet and slipped my hand down her arm to thread my fingers through hers, and we walked hand in hand from the terrace to the turtle duck pond.

"If things had been different," I asked her, "if we'd been born as other people, do you think we still would have found each other?"

"Some rivers," she told me, in a way oddly reminiscent of one of Uncle's proverbs, "always lead to the same sea, no matter how the landscape changes their courses."

"Would we have been as we are now?"

"I don't know what we would have been," she admitted, "but we would have been _something_. I can't imagine existing in the same world and not crossing paths."

I smiled. "I'm not sure I would have been satisfied with being just your friend."

She grinned and then quirked a teasing eyebrow, "Maybe we would have been enemies."

"You could never have been my enemy," I scoffed, lifting her hands to my lips and pressing a gentle kiss against each set of knuckles. "One look at you, and I would have laid down my arms." I happened to glance down at our reflections in the pond, and was suddenly horrified to see that scarred specter, again—only, instead of my mother, he now claimed Katara. Whereas my hands held hers, his shackled her wrists, jerking her to him and nearly dragging her off her feet. Her eyes were frightened and filled with loathing. I blinked hard and the phantoms vanished.

"Zuko?" I looked up into Katara's face and found the utter adoration I had come to expect as surely as a sunrise. "We aren't in another world," she told me, assuming my distraction was a worry somehow conjured by my prior line of thought, "we aren't other people." No, we were here, now, together—two people born of different lands and different elements. We were the moon and the sun, a fish and a star; it seemed an impossible union. But if the long, celestial arc was intent on separating us, then I would fold the heavens until we were side by side; if the distance between sea and sky was too great for me to reach her, then I would forge the rest of the world into a bridge. If I could do those things, then surely, I could deal with my father and the politics and the climate. I would find a way.

I leaned in to kiss her, but she freed her hands and ducked away from me.

"You'll have to catch me, first," she cried, hitching up her court dress and running off through the garden in the direction of the royal orchards.

My smile was feral as I tried to step after her, only to fall forward and catch myself. I looked down to see my feet solidly frozen to the ground. "You'll regret that, Waterbender," I called, melting the ice with a puff of fire. Her answering laugh was a promise that breathed on the flame I felt growing within my core, and I sprinted after her, determined to overtake her, despite her lead.

I stopped in the middle of the orchard, surrounded by gray trunks and shadows, mottled by moonbeams piercing through the thick canopy overhead, and I listened for the sound of her movements. "You can't escape me, Katara," I called; "I'll follow you wherever you go!"

"Do you swear to?" she questioned back, giving away her position. I dashed in the same direction and finally caught up to her, receiving a snowball in the chest for my efforts. When another snowball came at me, I whipped a small flame at it, showering the space between us with water and steam.

"You really are getting better," she remarked from where she was now hiding behind a tree, craning her head around the trunk to look at me. "I thought maybe I was just tired when we sparred yesterday, but you've learned a few new things since last week."

"My father said it was time he took my training under his own instruction," I informed her, hearing the pride in my own voice. To demonstrate, I gathered fire in my hands and danced it in long arcs that surrounded my body. The moment she stepped toward me, however, all traces of the flame vanished. I was always so careful not to singe my Waterbender. Even in practice, when I knew she was ready and had every confidence in her, I carefully controlled my attacks, always prepared to reign in my flame and pull it back if her defenses faltered.

"You'll make a formidable Fire Lord," she said, each word bringing her closer.

"You would make a formidable Fire Lady," I told her, recklessly.

"Yes," she mused, sarcastically, "with all of my masterful _Fire_bending." She screwed up her eyebrows and grinned, but then her expression grew somber, her voice quiet. "You'll have an arranged marriage, Zuko."

"One I've arranged myself," I assured her. "I'm _not_ the spoiled Prince you think me, and I _will_ fight for what I want," I promised. I reached for her, and then she was in my arms, leaning her head on my chest, our game at its end. I slipped my hand inside my robes and pulled out a bundle of blue ribbon, in its center was a fire opal, etched with a jagged flame molded to a smooth, swirl of water. Katara's eyes widened, a smile tugging at her mouth, before she smirked.

"That isn't how Fire Nation men propose," she told me.

"But it's how Water Tribe women accept, isn't it?" I reminded her. "Hakoda insisted I do it properly."

"You talked to my father?" she asked, suspicion icing the blue of her eyes.

"He talked to me," I corrected her. "You remember that sailing trip with Sokka a few weeks ago, don't you?" I asked. "It was a complete ambush. Apparently, your father is more observant than mine."

"You've only made, what, four secret trips to the South Pole of your own volition this year? That's not suspicious at all." She was quiet for a moment. "But you haven't talked to _your_ father," she correctly assumed.

I sighed. "Sometimes it's easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission," I told her, realizing too late that those words would earn me a jab in the ribs. I rubbed my side and tilted my head apologetically at her hurt expression. "I didn't mean it like that," I quickly amended, "_of course_ you aren't something to be forgiven… I just want to have done something official about it before I tell him—so he'll know how serious I am—something he can't make me take back… you know, without causing an international incident."

"I'm not sixteen, yet," she said.

"But I am. And if I don't take my future into my own hands, my father will dole it out to someone else. Hakoda understands that. You don't have to wear this right now," I compromised, "just take it." She narrowed her eyes at me.

"Are you only asking me because you're afraid your father might pick someone ugly?" she accused, but I could see the teasing glint in her eyes, the surety of her faith in my feelings. "Am I the best alternative you see lying around?"

"I'm asking you because you're the woman I love," I insisted. "That's all I see when I look at you."

"Oh, Zuko," she breathed, laying her head on my chest again, and I felt the flame stir higher. "Wouldn't I wilt here, in the capital of the Fire Nation? It's a beautiful city, but it's so warm."

"Then I'll move the Capital to the mountains," I told her, resting my chin against the top of her head. It had become my custom to grant Katara any whim she desired.

She laughed at my eagerness to please her. "You can't move the Capital, Zuko," she said.

"How do you know?" I countered, seriously. "Sozin's comet will be here by Summer's end. I'll just do it then. I'll build you whatever world you want; just draw me a map."

"The comet," she echoed. "I'm certain your father will have no problem wasting it on rearranging cities to my liking—except that you aren't an Earthbender," she pointed out.

"There are other ways to build a world," I told her. "I don't have to push dirt around."

She pulled back from me slightly, looking up. "That sounded dangerously ambitious," she observed.

"Well," I offered, "if you're so concerned about my aspirations, perhaps you should be at my side when I'm Fire Lord so you can contain them."

"Are you actually threatening to take over the world unless I marry you?" she asked incredulously.

"Would it tempt you to say yes?" I asked, "Because I'll go rally the troops, right now." She snorted slightly, shook her head, and then settled her cheek back into its place over my heart.

"Has your father decided what the mighty Firebenders will do with the comet, this time?" she asked, apparently devilishly intent on making me suffer a long wait for my answer, but I couldn't resist the impulse to spread my enthusiasm for the idea of following in Sozin's great, humanitarian legacy. I grinned.

"You don't know? It's the entire reason for your family's visit. We're going to bridge the Serpent's Pass," I told her. "When you cross from East to West in the Earth Kingdom," I explained, since her people usually made a yearly, circuitous journey to all the major ports of call, rarely traversing the interior of the Kingdom, "your choices are to either take a ferry across one of the twin lakes or cross the Serpent's Pass on foot, but that's far too dangerous for most travelers." I took her hand in mine, holding it low, where she could see it and began tracing a map of the central Earth Kingdom on her palm. "The Serpent's Pass bisects the lakes, except for a very small, barely crossable stretch that lies underwater—too deep to wade across safely, but too shallow for cargo ships to cross over it from the southern lake to the northern lake.

"King Bumi and King Kuei have decided to remove the center of the pass where it narrows to open the way for ships to cross—that means ships will finally be able to travel from the southern part of the continent all the way to the north without going around. My father and the General have elicited your father's assistance in providing Waterbenders to push back the water to make it easier for the Earthbenders to dig out the rock. While they're moving the rock, we Firebenders are going to work with their metal benders to construct the world's longest, strongest bridge from one end of the pass to the other, providing a safe route for travelers and trade caravans."

She raised her eyebrows. "That sounds like a lot to do in such a short time."

"With all my father's Firebenders and the power of the comet, we'll be strong enough to do it—at least most of it. Just think about the possibilities, Katara. Trade will increase; with travel so accessible, none of the regions will ever have to fear famine again; and even your yearly trips will be shortened."

"Firebenders," she said with a teasing note in her tone, "ever the guardians of the world. If you're so confident, maybe you should just move the Capital to the South Pole, then," she offered. "That would solve more of my problems."

"Minx," I accused her, my hold tightening around her, worried the resurgence of her teasing would start the game of chase again. Now that she was in my arms, I would not give her up. She tilted her face toward mine, beckoning, and I lowered my mouth to hers, brushing along the caramel-pink delicacy. "Would you want me cold?" I whispered against her lips.

Her hands reached upward, clinging to the front of my robes, and she shook her head. "I'm quite happy with your fire."

As I held her and made to close my mouth over hers, a flickering in my peripheral vision made me break away. "What is it?" she asked. I let my arms fall from her waist, my hand trailing down her arm to clasp her fingers.

"I don't know," I said, stepping in the direction of whatever had drawn my attention. "I thought I saw something." I was reminded of my eerie encounter in my mother's chambers and at the pond. "I thought I saw a light," I explained, my urgency pulling us toward the cliffs that hung over the lake at the edge of the palace grounds.

"Zuko," Katara said, and I was tugged to a halt as she dug her heels into the ground, "let's go back inside. I want to dance, again. Please?"

"Okay," I answered, automatically. "I just want to see if there's something here, first," I said, starting to pull on her again.

"No, Zuko. I don't want to go to the cliffs. Just… just come back with me. Come back to the Fire Palace," she suggested, and when I didn't comply, released my hand, forcing me to concede or go on without her.

"Katara," I glanced over my shoulder at her. "You're being a child," I reprimanded. "Fine, wait here. I'll be just a minute." I hated to leave her, especially as agitated as she had become, but an impulse I could not deny continued to drag me toward the cliffs.

"Zuko, don't go," she pleaded. "I'm scared."

"There's nothing to be afraid of." I tried to take another step, only to discover that my feet had been frozen to the ground again. "Honestly, Katara," I chastised, melting the ice, "I'll be right back. Just wait here." There was something ominously foreboding about the sorrow in her expression as I left her standing in the orchard—it was not unlike my ghost-mother's had been—but I ignored it in my curiosity. Whatever shade had been chasing me, it was time to force it out of the reflections in which it hid and confront it head on. I would not have this night marred by my fear of ridiculous hallucinations.

When I reached the cliffs, I looked out over the water. A twinkling beneath the waves drew my gaze. It grew—the spark becoming a blaze, the blaze an inferno. Soon, the spreading fire held an image, and I peered into it. My gut wrenched as I saw a Water Tribe village burning, as I watched the impossible display of cruelty as a Firebender threatened a mother and a young girl—a girl I knew. Truth gnawed like poison in my belly. I saw myself—or rather, I saw the self who had been haunting me this night—leave a ship and stalk onto the ice. I watched in horror as this not-me grabbed Gran Gran, sneered at Katara, fought Sokka—_what manner of dark magic can make me see such impossible things?_—and then, I was confronted by a young Airbender.

I saw other images. I saw myself force Katara to a tree, binding her arms to it, and I wanted to thrash my other self for the roughness with which I handled her—not even in sparring was I ever that unconscious of my strength. I saw myself taunt her with the betrothal necklace that, as far as I knew, had never left Kya's neck…. although, as I instinctively moved my thumb, I could almost feel the edges of the waves and swirls etched into its pad from repetition. Somehow I knew that I had held that necklace _many_ times. Katara glared at me with the hatred of the girl in the pond. But these scenes were nothing compared to the heartbreak of the following ones. The comet… the destruction… the death. I saw myself hovering over Katara's body, limp and lifeless.

"No! Katara!" I reached for her, intent on dashing that image to pieces, but with my movement, I felt the ground beneath me give way, and then, I tumbled toward the rocky teeth that gnawed on the shoreline below me.

"Zuko!" I vaguely heard the scream from above, "Come back to me!" But I couldn't. All I could do was close my eyes and accept the darkness.

_I'm so sorry, Katara. I didn't know…_

* * *

Alright. There you have it. I'll try to be quick with the next chapter.

(**Everyone**)—as always, hugs and kisses for reading and reviewing. Your comments inspire me to keep writing. There weren't many questions this last time around, so I will just touch on a few interesting comments:

(**Those who commented on the poetry**)—I stressed a little about "Zuko's" poetry since "Zuko" doesn't really feel all that adept at it. It wasn't completely _necessary_ for that chapter, but I felt like it might have been so unexpected as to lead Katara to wonder what else could be hidden in Zuko's personality, softening her to his situation. But since I'm not really a poet, I hesitated to include it. I'm glad it wasn't met with boos.

(**AnaAza**)—The legend of how the Spirits formed the world is actually an old legend of some northern dwelling people from North America (but I couldn't figure out whose specifically). I found it while I was researching legends and thought it worked for this fic. It's really surprising, though, how morbid some of the native legends are—a fair amount of killing, toting around body parts, and cannibalism. So that was one of the warmer, fuzzier legends.

(**watercrab**)—I think it's interesting you point out that Zuko is not the only one who's possessive. Especially in this chapter, you can see that Katara is slowly claiming some territory of her own where Zuko is concerned—perhaps not consciously, but it's there. And her emotional conflict, as well as his, is going to be the major theme of this story (you know, along with saving the world). But the different phases of their relationship are really going to challenge of a lot of their respective beliefs about the world, about right and wrong, and about themselves.

(**Occams Ninja**)—Hobbies… well, in this chapter, we found out that Zuko can dance, which also will be employed in a later chapter. Zuko will try his hand at some impromptu lying, which I suppose you could call "acting" if you wanted. Other than that, I haven't established any other concrete hobbies for him, but I might give him some as I need them for plot purposes.


	10. Illumination

Sorry for the wait! I dropped the ball because real life ate me; plus, I spent some time trying to coordinate with my beta reader. I really jumped the gun on some things in this chapter and had to figure out a significant rewrite, but here it finally is. Many thanks to PetertheChameleon (you should go read him) for agreeing to beta for me and for all the advice he gave on this chapter.

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Chapter 10 – Illumination

ZUKO

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There were noises in the dark—a deep, rhythmic clanging, soft footfalls, and an off-key melody, gruffly hummed by a voice I would know anywhere. I slowly blinked my eyes and looked around the room. I was in my cabin; Uncle stood nearby, stuffing leaves into a teapot, but otherwise, we were alone.

"Where… Where is she?" I intended to yell, and then strained to make out the sound of my own, weak voice. I frowned at its whisper and undertook coughing a backbone into it.

"Zuko!" Uncle's bright greeting ignored my question and my coughing. He set his teapot down and scurried to kneel at my bedside. "I was beginning to think you would never awaken. You have been asleep for more than two weeks," he informed me. "What kept you so long?"

It might have been a rhetorical question, but still gripped by the confusion of half sleep, I started to answer it anyway. "I was…" _with Katara_ rested on the tip of my tongue, but reality rushed me, throwing me off balance as my world refashioned itself. My life was war and exile—nothing of the fantasy that had ended with my waking. "I was dreaming," I finally said as I limply tried to pry his calloused hand from my forehead. Freed from his testing palm, I planted my hands at my sides and shakily pushed myself up.

"I see." Uncle nodded sagely. "Dreams can be very powerful things—especially the good ones. Tell me, Nephew, was it a good dream?" He pulled one of my arms across his shoulders and hefted me backward on the mattress so the wall could support me.

"It was," I hoarsely admitted; although, my sour expression argued with that assessment when I leaned forward to let Uncle prop a head roll behind me and the skin across my stomach tightened. As if that odd pull snagged the memories to the forefront of my mind, I saw Zhao's blade again, crimson with my blood, and those frightened, watery-blue eyes peering at me. I touched my stomach and hissed in anticipation of the hurt my fingers would cause. No pain twisted my gut, though, and I pulled open my robe to experimentally probe at new, seamless flesh. Why wasn't I dead?

Uncle noticed my exploration of my own torso. "Some powerful Waterbenders have the ability to heal."

"She healed me?" My eyes swiftly narrowed in habitual suspicion, crinkling the left side of my face. "Why would she do that?"

Uncle shrugged. "Gratitude.... Kindness.... Selflessness." His tone gave no specific weight to any of his words, leaving me with no satisfying answer. As I absently traced the smooth place where my fatal wound should have been, I considered my captive. It was difficult to believe that Katara would feel so indebted. She had said enough on the topic that I was sure she saw no difference between me and Zhao; I couldn't even convince myself that I was at least the lesser of two evils in her eyes. Having kept Katara in my quarters, I wouldn't exactly describe her attitude toward me during the course of those weeks as _kind_. I doubted I actually deserved any kindness from her.

But I had known a young woman, once, who was completely selfless, and I questioned whether there were certain aspects of a person that were so strong they withstood the harsh conditioning of reality. I recalled having been horrified in that dreamscape by the reflection of my own visage—positive I had nothing in common with that hideous doppelganger. Now, as I stood on the other side of that memory, scowling back at the unmarred version of myself, I wondered if there was anything of that gentle young man in me.

"Could she muster that much sympathy?" I mumbled bitterly and let my head fall back against the red banner above my bed.

"Perhaps it is a question you should ask her yourself," he offered. Uncle dragged a pillow from a twist of blankets next to the bed so he could stuff it behind my shoulders. I eyed the makeshift pallet and grabbed Uncle's sleeve as he settled the pillow.

"Where is she? Where's Ka—" The familiar name burned as I swallowed it back down, afraid of what desperate intonations might leak into its pronunciation. "Where's the Waterbender?"

"Out on the deck," Uncle answered casually, as if it happened every day. Maybe it did. If I had been unconscious as long as Uncle claimed, there was no telling how sloppy things had gotten—Katara running loose was likely just one of a hundred violations I would have to set right. I started to roll forward in an attempt to get out of bed.

"What are you doing, Zuko?" Uncle gently pushed my shoulder back against the wall, and I struggled weakly under the weight of his hand. "You have only just awakened; you should take your time getting around."

"I _have_ no time, Uncle," I growled. "She'll get away."

"Lieutenant Jee is with her." He tried to soothe me, but I shook my head in continued protest. Uncle's answering grunt held an ironic quality that tempted me to abandon my effort.

"Trust me, Nephew, when I say that she won't be going anywhere right now—at least, as long as she thinks you are still unconscious." His statement left me confounded. What had happened in these last weeks to delude him into believing she could be trusted without at least one of us there to ensure her cooperation? My fingers already itched for her wrist, and I knew, no matter Uncle's cryptic assurances, that I would not be able to rest until I had seen her.

"The Avatar might come for her," I muttered darkly, the thought simultaneously satisfying and dreadful, and the polarity of my reaction also confused me. I wanted the Avatar; that had been my plan, the entire reason Katara was on board. I should be looking forward to his arrival with all the enthusiasm of an armadillo-tiger watching a kangarabbit wander from its grazing herd. But as much as I knew that to be true, my conscience still squirmed when I thought about how Katara would react when I captured her friend—when I finally threw him into one of my cells and set my course for home. In another world, I was a man who would not have scorched a leaf on a crawling weed if it had drawn her favor. Now, I would sacrifice her savior on the altar of my father's ambition. Perhaps there was nothing of that young man in me, after all.

"The Avatar has already attempted a rescue," Uncle divulged.

"What?" I barked out, jerked from my introspection. "What happened? Was he captured? Tell me, Uncle!"

"A few days ago," Uncle began slowly, as if taking his interminable time would somehow dissolve my disquiet, "Katara and I were on the deck, taking in the sun, as the ship neared the Western Air Temple. When I went below to get my liuqin, the flying bison appeared. It took me a few minutes to get back out onto the deck, but the men fought fiercely," he defended. "Still, the bison managed to reach Katara."

"Then how is she still here? If they got to her, then why didn't she escape?" I was bewildered by his story, and my stomach clenched as I imagined her being lifted away from my ship.

"That is a very good question," Uncle answered, as if he had no clue, but I cut off a frustrated growl when he continued. "I suppose, in the end, it was my fire that blocked her. Although, if she had really wanted to leave, then I assume she would have." He shrugged again, and I frowned.

Uncle was losing his faculties. Katara wanted to be as far away from me as possible, as far from anything Fire Nation as she could get. She wanted to protect her friend and her brother. Katara wanted to leave—of that I was certain. So why was Uncle seeming to suggest she hadn't? Why would he think that the status of my health had anything to do with her staying? Why did the crazy, old hog-monkey never just say what he meant, outright?

"Would it be that surprising?" Uncle tilted his head at my scowl. "You did sacrifice a great deal to protect her. Perhaps your concern is not entirely unreciprocated."

"I sacrificed to guarantee my advantage over the Avatar," I snapped. Uncle's smile was telling, and I shifted uncomfortably, realizing he did not completely believe me. Something felt like it was moving beneath my skin, rousing from a deep slumber and not quite sure where it had come to. I was aware of Uncle's burdening gaze, and I tried to shirk out from under its examination by accusing him, "You think I'm letting her get too close."

"I think," Uncle said, surprising me, "you are not letting her get close enough."

I raised my sole eyebrow at him. I wanted to demand he explain what he meant, but that was a conversation I felt would lead into dangerous territory—a land I was ill prepared to explore right now with my dream still so fresh in my mind, misguiding me down strange avenues of thought. My gaze lowered aimlessly to my blanketed feet. Uncle watched me a moment more and then rose with a groan and returned to the table. "I will make some tea; it will help strengthen your constitution." I nodded mutely, my thoughts now occupied by Uncle's disturbing insinuations.

"I dreamt of my mother," I blurted out suddenly, eager to take my mind off Katara. I sighed when I realized this topic would be no easier to discuss, and yet, nothing else stood out as brightly in my dream as the two women I had loved so much. Uncle stiffened; his hand hovered just above the pot he intended to heat, but the air remained cold and dead beneath his palm.

There were things that my uncle and I did not discuss—edges of the world we had built here on the water that were still too sharp for our raw emotions to brush against—and so I had never had a chance to observe the reaction roused by my mother's mention. I filed it to the back of my mind as I watched him. Impatient, I invaded the silence.

"Uncle?"

He gave an acknowledging grunt, and it seemed to break him from his stillness. His fingers moved, the air above the water wavered with heat, and Uncle cleared his throat to speak. Forced levity did not quite disguise the thickness of his voice. "Perhaps the spirits give us dreams as a small kindness so we do not have to live so long apart from those we have lost." I looked away, my mind troubled by thoughts of spirits and dreams, of things I had lost, and of things that had never really been mine.

"Do you believe in the spirit world, Uncle?" I finally asked. "Do you think if a man is close to death, he could go there and then come back again?"

Uncle abandoned his tea to face me, and he eyed me curiously for a moment. "I believe that if a man is close to death, and if there is something Fate needs to tell him, the spirit world would be a good place for such news to be delivered."

I considered his answer, but it only begged more questions. "Can we change our destiny?"

"Zuko," Uncle said, "I have never known anyone with a stronger will to chart the course of his own fate than you, but Destiny is a funny thing. Some destinies are greater than others," he told me, "and the greatest destinies are set in stone. All paths lead to their appointed end." I felt that odd schism in my feelings again—expectancy and doom. "But," he continued, "it is not the destiny itself that matters—it will always be what it is. What matters most is what path you take to reach it. Some paths are difficult, while others are easy; some are right and some are wrong; some will destroy the world and others will preserve it; but most will leave you empty at their end."

I blinked and then frowned. Uncle was no less mysterious now than he had been two weeks ago. My resolve had never wavered; there had never been any doubt in my mind that I would be Fire Lord. That, I was certain, was my one true destiny. But until today, I had never considered that there might be more than one path to my fate. Capture the Avatar—that goal had been my entire world, my only hope. But now…

I thought back to what Katara had told me at the pond—that whatever world we were in, whatever people we had become, we would always have found each other. I was slightly chagrinned as I remembered my promise that we never would have been enemies. Was it possible to be anything else?

"How will I know my path?" I asked out loud.

"You must find the path that will save you," he told me gravely, "but to find it, you must first discover how you need to be saved. What does your heart tell you, Nephew?"

My heart was in an odd state of mourning, crying out all manner of things that I was certain would never be possible. When I closed my eyes, I could still see the skin peeling away from Zhao's face. My stomach twisted with the conjured smell of roasting flesh—a scent with which I was all too familiar—and my throat burned with the memory of fire. It still roiled deep down, buried beneath the guilt and horror of what I had done, and that weakness disgusted me.

I had been sired and raised by the greatest Firebender who lived, a man who had no qualms about killing those who stood in his way. But I couldn't think about Zhao without seeing his eyes, frightened and disbelieving, before they had burst. I should have been proud of my victory. My first kill should have brought me my father's approval, but it only condemned me; I was sure he would consider my execution of his Admiral an act of treason. My father was not the only one who would think less of me.

Even if Katara had not hated me before, I had killed a man in front of her; when she looked at me, I feared she would see only the blood that tainted my hands. Strangely, I felt both eager and reluctant. The urge still existed within me, as relentless and demanding as it had been in my dream, to be near Katara… but I wanted her to be _my_ Katara—not this prisoner who could barely tolerate my touch, who looked away too often and never smiled at me.

"I don't know what my heart tells me," I muttered, standing there, slightly lost before I finally plotted a course and forced myself into action, "but my brain is telling me to go find the Waterbender before she realizes she can just bend herself off my ship." I threw off my bed covers and climbed unsteadily to my feet, pulling carefully on the wall hanging to guide my movements. My head felt clearer after I was standing.

"You should not be moving around so soon," Uncle persisted, even as his tone hinted at indulgence, but I shook my head.

"My men need to see me out of my sickbed," I argued, finding clean robes in my trunk and beginning to dress myself—and Katara needed to see that I was still capable of keeping her here. "The sooner the better."

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**Status:** It occurs to me that some of you might want to know what I'm doing when chapters are slow in coming… or at least might be comforted in knowing that I am actually making progress. So I've added a status section to my profile that I plan to update every few days so you'll know where I'm at with chapter delivery. There are times that my schedule makes me feel like a black hole, so at the very least, it will make me feel better to be able to update _something_.

**Story Stats:** I'm excited and wanted to share. Thanks to you guys, _More Than the Price of Honor_ has exceeded both the 100th Review and 100th Story Alert marks. That makes me feel awesome, and I hope I can keep putting out a story that you find rewarding enough to keep reading.

Now for Reviews of Chapter 9:

I'm so grateful to those of you who reviewed with your praise for this chapter. It was a difficult chapter, and I had a lot of misgivings about it, so I'm glad you liked it. On more specific notes…

**hg-always:** Clever girl. Yes, the dream world is what would have happened (more or less) if the Fire Nation had never started the war. As you can see, some things were always destined—Katara and Zuko meeting, Ozai becoming Fire Lord, etc. I guess this chapter answers the question of whether he'll remember because…

**senbo-sama:** …. "mold" is a good word to use here. I needed Zuko to recall that world and his feelings; otherwise, the entire effort would have been lost as my catalyst for his change in perspective. Katara is so open to love and is so compassionate, as she is that she really doesn't need much of a push to realize feelings—accept them, maybe, but she'll get her own catalyst. Zuko, on the other hand, needed some external manipulation to sort through.

**TheMightyErrg:** Yes, it is a nice fantasy, and he does get to wake up to Katara—just not a Katara who likes him very much, which has its own repercussions.

**Moriko no Hikari:** No, Zuko's heart didn't stop. The dream was just done with him, so it sort of dramatically ejected him and let him finally wake up… which I guess is obvious from this chapter.

**beastlySmalless:** I'm not sure why you liked the chapter so much. If I had to guess, though, I'd probably say it might have been the romantic dream Zuko and the proposal and all of Katara's blatantly molesting him while he was asleep. That's why I liked writing it, at any rate… but I'm just guessing. ;)

**Ravenwyrd: **You win for longest review, yet. I don't have so much a problem with relating the earth to the body, but I might wish native peoples would think of nicer aspects of the body to relate it too, rather than cannibalism and hacking things apart and dragging them about. The world apparently had a very violent birth. I struggle sometimes with how 'subtle' to be about the emotional development. I recently read a fic with a very short, seemingly unassuming line in it that had grand implications about the relationship, and I very much appreciated that I got to realize that rather than have it pounded into me through the prose. At the same time, I do worry that my subtlety won't come off quite the way I plan and I'll have lost an important relationship signal. I'll try to find a balance. You and Silverscreamer will both be happy to know that we'll have periodic shenanigans from Iroh. While I don't have a knock-down-drag-out planned, I can tell you that "peasant vs. prince" will come into play in several places throughout the story, often to Zuko's chagrin.


	11. Confession

I haven't been able to reach my beta reader this round, so you're getting the same unedited crap you were getting prior to the last chapter. Good luck with that.

* * *

Chapter 11 – Confession

KATARA

* * *

The sea wind picked at my braid, stealing out a few dark tendrils to lightly flog my cheeks. Iroh had taken a shift with Zuko, promising to send for me if there was any change. I had argued at first but reluctantly went down to the deck for a dose of fresh air and some sunlight—p_asty_ was an adjective no one should ever use to describe my coloring. Farther down the port side, Lieutenant Jee loafed with feigned casualness.

I folded my arms across the railing as I leaned over the edge of the deck. The blue of the ocean took up the entire world, seamlessly merging with the cloudless sky at the horizon, and I could almost fool myself into believing the ship was wrapped in endless water. I closed my eyes to let that thought soothe me as I listened to the rush of the breeze and the steady slush of the prow hacking through the waves. When I opened my eyes again, familiar hands had appeared on either side of my arms—long, sure fingers latched firmly to the rail. I straightened in surprise, met the solid wall of Zuko's chest, and quickly moved forward to put space between us. He bent his arms as he took a step, sealing the gap and pinning me closer to the railing.

He stood there for a long time without speaking, and I worried he was waiting for me to say something, first. My voice had abandoned me, chased from my throat by the anxiety he pressed into my back and by the way his hands gripped so closely to mine. Zuko had been much less intimidating as a damaged doll I could stroke and pose; I had become comfortable with his calm expression and the absence of his piercing, golden stare. A Zuko with open eyes, who walked, talked, and felt free to pin me to things was something else entirely. That thought irritated me; I wasn't going to let him scare me into silence simply by getting out of bed, so I boldly said the first thing that came to mind.

"You're awake." He inched even closer so that I could hear him over the wind and waves.

"Obviously." The word was abrupt; his tone sounded as if it didn't know whether it should be. I could feel subtle movement at my back—sharp, short hitches of breath he drew to speak, only to abandon his words. After one deep inhale, he finally settled on something just as safe. "You're on the deck."

"Obviously." My tone might have been too irreverent; his fingers tightened their hold, strain stripping the color from his knuckles, and I suppressed a sigh. He was always so angry. Was it because I hadn't been there when he awoke or because he had found me on the deck when he came looking? Maybe Zuko just took to rage the way fish took to swimming and old men took to tea. I wasn't tempted to linger on the idea that he had rushed from his bed to find me, as if I were the only thing that mattered. What really matter right now was that Zuko was awake and that he had caught me so guiltily close to boundless water.

I hadn't really considered what Zuko's recovery would mean for me. While I was healing him, I had wanted to be successful; I had wanted to prove I could winagainst a seemingly unassailable force. Now, I was dealing with another force—more infuriating to overcome than the injury that had threatened the thin thread of his life—and this one had the power to make _my_ life miserable. As we watched the waves roll in the distance—a constant tug at my core—I half expected him to drag me back to his quarters and tie me to something out of spite.

But Zuko seemed content to stand where he was, and I had no escape. Anyone taking note of us might have found it a touching, if unexpected scene—the Prince holding the Waterbending girl as they gazed across the water—but I recognized Zuko's embrace as the cage he intended. His arms, his chest, and the metal in front of me prevented any retreat without struggling, and I wasn't sure I was ready to start that war, again. The ship lurched amid the mild waves, making me feel drunken and clownish. I reluctantly leaned against Zuko, letting his superior balance battle the buffeting movement. Even as close as we were, his harsh voice startled me.

"Why did you stay?" Zuko didn't exactly ask things; he ordered their telling. But there it was—the real reason he had clamored out of bed to harass me.

I was an idiot if I thought Zuko wouldn't see through me. An instant of doubt had cost me my freedom. My friends and family had been here; all I had to do was take Sokka's hand, and Appa would have carried us away from the dead metal and smoke plumes of Zuko's ship. I finally could have been done with him. But when Sokka reached for me, indecision had stayed my answering hand. It had taken only that moment for a net of fire to be cast between us, forcing Appa to swing wide of the ship. The rescue attempt thwarted, the great bison had shrunken into the distance, dodging hurtled fire balls. Aang's promise that they would come for me again had faded, its echo eaten up by the shouts of soldiers all around me.

I had turned to find General Iroh next to me. It had been his fire, of course, because Zuko had not been on the deck. He had been in his cabin, still dancing a line between life and death, refusing to awaken. If I had escaped, I had no illusions they would have found another Waterbender with the skill to mend and the compassion to save a Fire Nation Prince—the embodiment of all their strife and grief. Zuko was not my responsibility—no Fate could have been that cruel—but the budding healer in me could not bear to see her work half finished, her patient only half healed. Neither, it seemed, could Iroh.

But Zuko wasn't really asking why I had stayed. After Iroh's apparent briefing on their encounter with Aang, Zuko was no longer sure of my motives—a nagging doubt with which I could completely sympathize—and I heard the desperate uncertainty in what I assumed was his unspoken question. _Why did you heal me—because you were ordered to or because you believe I'm worth saving?_

Was he? A part of me emphatically nodded—yes, everyone was worth saving—but now that the danger of losing him had passed, a less charitable part had been given reign over my reason. The little girl who had lost her father to the demands of war, who had lost her mother to flame, and who had left her home on an errand against his family still hated the Prince who stood behind her. I could heal the body, but I wasn't sure even the Moon herself could heal the twistings of Zuko's heart and the hurt, so deeply embedded, that had severed it from the world. I stiffened.

"I didn't stay," I muttered, every bit as twisted up inside. "I just failed to escape."

Zuko's fists clenched and unclenched around the railing, and my pulse quickened. The rise and fall of his breathing caused me to sway backward and forward slightly, as if Zuko's chest contained his own private storm, and I could feel the steady, relentless thunder of his heart beating against my back. Could he feel mine?

"Of course." His tone was curt, full of regret for having asked such a foolish question in the first place. We stood there for another minute, neither of us moving except for our breathing and the alternate tightening of Zuko's core as the ship rocked us. As the silence thickened, I grew sorry that I hadn't said something kinder, that I hadn't been willing to offer him a better truth to spare his dignity, but finally, he dropped his hands to his sides, letting me go.

"You've been bending without my permission," he gruffly commented. "It ends now." He paused, taking in a half breath as if he might say something else, something softer, but the words remained unspoken as he blew out a quiet sigh and turned to leave me at the railing. I also turned, watching his retreat.

"Zuko, wait." He stopped, and I swallowed back a small amount of pride. "I'm glad you're awake."

He was silent for too many seconds, making me wonder if I had been wrong to call out to him. Finally, he turned his head, not quite looking over his shoulder at me. His eyebrow dipped with what I took to be a considering expression and then, he nodded, answering with a simple, "Thank you." He subtly signaled two Firebenders to keep an eye on me, and then he disappeared back inside the bridge tower.

"You're welcome," I sighed and leaned down to rest my head on my crossed arms.

.

.~**—**~.

.

I saw very little of Zuko during the coming week. I enjoyed Iroh's company with relative frequency—I had soon forgiven him for blocking my escape, knowing he could not help that my freedom was secondary to his concern for Zuko—but Zuko might as well have died under my care for all the time we spent together. I tried to convince myself that I wasn't disappointed in this new development and that any reprieve from Zuko's attention was a good thing. When that didn't lift my spirits, I reasoned that he was probably just busy trying to catch up with his duties, and he no doubt grilled Iroh about each of our visits, anyway. Still, when the door of my new cell shuddered under an impatient fist, I knew it was not Iroh, whose knock was as cheerful as the rest of him, waiting in the corridor. My stupid heart skipped a beat.

"You can come in." Granting him permission felt ridiculous considering he had to unlock the door himself, anyway. I couldn't keep him out or even let him in on my own. I suppose I should have been grateful for the illusion of privacy. Almost immediately, the door swung inward, and Zuko entered, one hand balancing a tray that held several kinds of food and a pale green teapot. He shifted uncertainly, his feet restless beneath his long robes, and he pushed aside the jet-black hair he hadn't bothered to shave or cut, unaccustomed to the brush of it across his forehead. I looked at him expectantly. "Well, what do you want?"

"I thought you might like company for breakfast." He raised his single eyebrow and hefted the tray of tempting fruits and meats, but I wasn't in a congenial mood.

"Right—because you always make mealtime fun."

Zuko's glare was indignant, and he abruptly turned toward the door, threatening to leave me alone. It had not been an easy thing to accept confinement to my new quarters when I had spent weeks roaming nearly free on the ship—at least during the hours I wasn't anxiously sitting at Zuko's side. I almost died when I realized he planned to lock me up again, but Zuko knew there was nothing to tie me to his side now that he was well. I almost wished his obsession with keeping me near had persisted and that I was still bunked in his cabin—at least, then, I could have entertained myself with being a nuisance to him. As it was, I rarely saw him, and our interactions were stiff and formal—on his part, at least. The interminable boredom of my isolation was wearing on my nerves, and I was aware that my attitude had developed an obviously acidic edge.

"I'm sorry," I called out after a moment's hesitation. "Stay… please." My voice was uncertain—my invitation grudging—but Zuko seemed content with it because he slowly turned and gave me an appraising look. He gestured to the low table and pillows and waited for me to sit before setting down the tray and dropping, cross legged, opposite from me. I decided the appearance of a table in my cabin meant he planned to dine with me here, on occasion, and the realization spurred a deep, resigned sigh. Apparently, Zuko thought he could afford to be charitable in some respects given all that I had idiotically sacrificed for him. The reminder made my blood burn—I didn't owe him anything and I hadn't forgiven the way he had voiced his claim to me after his fight with Zhao—and I quickly set to berating him.

"You're still not going to let me go, are you? Not even after I saved your life." Zuko didn't even pause as he poured tea into two small, porcelain cups.

"I saved your life from Zhao," he calmly reminded me. Having sought my company, he must have steeled himself for this inevitable line of questioning, but my mouth dropped open in utter shock at his audacity.

"You're the one who put me in danger in the first place!" His movements infuriatingly measured, Zuko set the teapot down. He seemed to be taking great pains to not provoke me—why, I had no idea, since my wrath was never something he'd seemed shy about incurring before; I noted the strained patience in his voice, however, as he tried to counter my logic.

"Zhao never would have known you were here if you hadn't scratched my face." A true statement, I acknowledged to myself, and yet completely unfair, the injustice of which I felt the need to point out in a scathing manner.

"Oh? Well, the next time I have to beat off your advances, I'll try to be more careful of your _pretty features_!"

I abruptly stopped breathing and we both stared, wide eyed, at each other for a few moments of painful silence before I clapped my hand over my mouth. I tried to sense how much tea was in the pot, hoping it would be enough to defend myself against the barrage of fire I was almost sure he would unleash. I winced as he glared, but then, he very deliberately placed his hands in his lap. Still, his voice was taut with anger as he answered my insult, every pointed word poking through his thin demeanor of calm like it was rice paper.

"If you hadn't questioned my honor, then I wouldn't have been forced to show you that I'm capable of controlling my urges." The idea that Zuko might _have_ urges was suddenly extremely discomforting. To keep an embarrassing heat from flooding my cheeks, I rolled my eyes and gave a disbelieving little snort that came close to putting him into a fury. His hands flew upward in exasperation—or preparation, maybe—but he managed to wrangle them to the tabletop, palms flat against the wood, and I wondered if their imprint would be scorched there when he left.

"You forget who set my example for manhood, Katara. Trust me when I say I know how to be cruel." His menacingly words were meant to shut me up. As he hoped, I closed my mouth, imagining if my time onboard had been spent in the hands of the infamous Fire Lord, and I failed to suppress the shiver that crawled up my spine. My silence lasted only a handful of seconds, though, forcing an agitated growl from Zuko as I took a breath to speak again.

"But you aren't cruel," I assessed, and Zuko visibly calmed, releasing the tabletop and slipping his hands back into his lap.

"No, I'm not," he agreed and then gently admonished, "so don't make the same mistake, twice." I sat back and sighed. It was progress, but I was still too sullen and edgy to concede complete defeat just yet.

"None of it would have happened at all if you hadn't had me on this ship to begin with," I repeated, folding my arms and hugging my elbows. Zuko had leaned forward, heaping fruits onto my plate. He seemed content with the way our argument had played out, and his tone was pleasant, jovial even—if you could consider anything said in that raspy voice to be jovial—as if he were talking about the weather, rather than my imprisonment.

"That's irrelevant; you're here, and you'll remain here until the Avatar is mine. Zhao is no longer a threat." I was reminded of who had ensured that and, therefore, how dangerous Zuko could be if riled. "I could happily throw you back into a cell. This," he gestured at the well-appointed cabin, "is a boon for your service." I groaned at the word. "Fine, then. For the… _favor_ you graciously did me."

I was passive, refusing to acknowledge his implied thanks and reluctant to eat, but then it occurred to me that I was being silly—either Zuko wouldn't care that I wasn't eating or he would force me to eat, neither of which got me any closer to my goals. I would need to keep up my strength if I planned to escape when the opportunity presented itself.

I popped a plumberry into my mouth as I glanced around the room. It wasn't that I needed to look—I'd had nothing, lately, if not time to inspect my surroundings—but I let Zuko watch me take in the furnishings with a deliberately questioning expression. I couldn't fathom why, if I wasn't allowed outside, I'd been given a parasol or why anyone would decorate with so many fans.

"All of this," I waved another berry around, "wasn't necessary. I would have been fine with a bedroll and blanket. You didn't have to go out and buy stuff." Zuko shifted in slight embarrassment as his gaze stalked mine around the room.

"It wasn't purchased for you," he reluctantly admitted. "Most of it was in the cargo hold." He sighed, his stare meeting mine. "A few items are on loan from Uncle's quarters. He insisted on preparing the room. Uncle has a… penchant for haggling at markets."

"You mean an obsession." I smiled at his nod, pleased that I had discovered another of Iroh's weaknesses, and the pursed line of Zuko's mouth lengthened in kind—not quite turning up at its corners, but I decided it was intended to be an amiable gesture, all the same. "That explains the three-footed, bronze tortoise-swan." Zuko snorted.

"And the stuffed peacock goat."

"That thing really gives me the creeps," I confided. "Can you take it somewhere else?"

"Consider it done."

I was surprised by his immediate promise. Zuko still did not smile, but as his eyes began to squint with a dormant mirth, he self-consciously turned his face to the side, hiding the way his scar moved with the unfamiliar creasing. I let my gaze crawl over the curve of his still-twitching mouth, scramble up the straight bridge of his nose, and plunge into the cheery gold of his good eye. Thick black lashes brushed his pale cheek with a blink, and his eyebrow arched as he ruefully shook his head at a private thought.

He looked so different without his ponytail and with his scar hidden from my view. He reclined on one of his elbows, seeming at ease, and I actually saw a prince where he sat—not the angry prince of an angry nation, but rather one of the noble, handsome princes of girlhood tales, who saved damsels, broke the spells of mischievous spirits, and fought for good. His bright eye met mine almost shyly, as if he were in the process of imagining me as someone else, too. I wondered whether, in his mind, I was a damsel to be saved or a spirit to be fought. Something in my mind begged _damsel_, and that unbidden thought made me straighten with a frown.

"In fact, you can just take all of it away." I pushed my plate toward the center of the table, my appetite waning to queasy upset, and I lifted my chin as I continued my bulk refusal of his gifts. "I thank Iroh for his consideration, but if I'm going to keep being your prisoner, then I'd just as soon be treated like one." Zuko had frozen; his scowl was firmly back in place. When he turned to look at me—his scar in full bloom and good eye narrowed—I toyed with the frayed hem of my robe and didn't meet his withering look. With a nervous swallow, I rolled my shoulders back and added, "It's much less confusing that way." My explanation didn't seem to placate him at all. He finally stood and rounded the table.

"Come with me," he ordered, latched onto my wrist without waiting for my response, and pulled me toward the door. Frightened by his abrupt change in mood, I clawed at his hand.

"You can't keep dragging me around the ship, Zuko. Where are you taking me?" I decided that maybe being friendly wasn't the enormous sin I'd made it out to be in my head. "Can't we just sit back down and eat?"

"No, I'm tired of your attitude." His voice was rough and serious. "And I'm going to do something about it—it's time you were taught a lesson."

I felt the color drain from my face, but no matter how hard I set my heels against the floor, Zuko managed to easily pitch me forward with his momentum. My first instinct was to call the tea to my hand, but the second Zuko sensed the fluid telegraph of my attack, he rounded with a heated kick to the air that broke the thin arc of brackish water and threw himself into my stance so I had no room to properly move. With a stern look and a single shake of his head, he grappled both of my wrists into a one-handed grip and pulled me out of the cabin. Halfway through the corridor, I had managed to reclaim one of my hands and, since we were so far from the tea I had used to attack him, he let me keep it, even though I used it to ineffectually pummel his arm whenever the force of his movements pulled me close.

It wasn't long before he had me down the stairs and all the way to the door that led onto the deck. A flashback of the last time a man had forced me through that door sent me scrambling for a grip on the metal edge of the opening, to which I desperately clung until Zuko firmly pulled me away from it and flung me into midday brightness. I blinked my eyes against the sun and jumped when Zuko came up behind me, his hand on the small of my back prodding me farther out onto the deck. I held my breath for a second until I noticed Iroh, who seemed inordinately pleased by our arrival.

"Ah! An audience for bending practice, today, Prince Zuko?" He made a brief bow.

"Another student," Zuko corrected his uncle, and I tripped on the smooth decking in my shock. Zuko deftly hooked his hand under my elbow to steady me and gave me a disapprovingly look, probably wondering how I'd managed the coordination to actually bend the tea against him in the first place.

"Excellent," Iroh cooed, undaunted, his hands slipping free of his sleeves to clap out his enthusiasm. "I have always wanted to teach a Waterbender how to bend fire!"

I pulled my elbow out of Zuko's grip and glared at him, but he answered with an expression of perfect innocence, as if he hadn't just terrorized me with his little display. I hoped he had enjoyed his joke because I fully intended to make him pay for it.

.

.~**—**~.

.

"If I can apply Waterbending movements to Firebending," Iroh reasoned in response to the skepticism I voiced as I began stretching, "then you can find something useful in the forms that Prince Zuko practices—if for nothing else than to build a better defense." That sounded promising to me but apparently, not to Zuko.

"Uncle!" Zuko's tone said Iroh was skirting treason.

"What?" Iroh gave Zuko a mighty shrug. "A teacher must inspire the desire to learn or else hammer on cold iron." He closed his eyes, shifted his feet, and took a wide stance, Zuko automatically mirroring his movements, and I walked my feet apart. Iroh popped one eye open and exaggerated his stance. I bent my knees. "Now, we breathe," he instructed, his barrel chest expanding as he filled his lungs. I stifled a giggle, and Zuko stopped breathing so he could growl at me.

"What are you laughing about?"

"I was just thinking that I already know how to breathe," I answered and then rearranged my features to match Zuko's serious expression. "Master Jeong Jeong was Aang's first Firebending teacher."

"A good man," Iroh commented and exhaled slowly through his mouth.

"A deserter," Zuko challenged and then inhaled deeply.

"Political affiliations aside, a good man, nonetheless." Zuko gave Iroh a sullen look but did not continue to argue. Uncomfortable, I spoke into the silence.

"Jeong Jeong taught Zhao Firebending." Aang had told me that, and Iroh nodded in confirmation. "I guess that makes you the better teacher." Iroh made a sound that was something between a pleased grunt and an embarrassed scoff. He was quick to change topics, pointing toward the center of the deck.

"Prince Zuko, begin your basic forms."

By the time I turned around, Zuko was stripping out of his robes and shirt, down to only his blousy pants. Taut abs flexed as he folded his clothes and bent to lay them on the ground. My gaze widened and I quickly turned away again, catching the admonishing shake of Iroh's head. "Pay attention, Katara. Prince Zuko is very conscious of his form and worthy of your study." Zuko bowed to his uncle and then quickly stepped away from us to a distance that would buffer us from his fire. I faced his general direction, my gaze slightly averted at first, but he eventually drew my focus like a sparkling gem. Zuko wasn't the only one very conscious of his form.

I had spent weeks with a shirtless Zuko—weeks in which I had touched and prodded and learned all about his stomach, chest, and arms. It seemed silly to be shy about looking at him now. But as I dutifully followed the direction of Iroh's insistent gestures and focused on Zuko as he moved, I became acutely aware of the difference between Zuko's body sleeping and Zuko's body bending.

I had watched Aang bend—his lithe, willowy body and wispy, whirlwind movements mimicking his element. I had seen Haru and the other Earthbenders—stout, solid, and certain—manipulate dirt and rock. But no other element came close to the raw power of Fire. I drew water from its source, Aang swayed the air around him, and Haru was accustomed to the element beneath his feet. Zuko created his own fire. It burned up from a place deep within him, fed by his rage and his incessant will.

I rubbed my palms together, remembering the way Aang had lost control of his flame, and I knew that Zuko had lost control during his fight with Zhao. Now, though, Zuko was in complete control—his movements tight and precise as he gathered the flame and then, explosive and arcing as he released it from his hands and feet. The sporadic dance of fire reminded me of the undulating glow that sometimes appeared high over the horizon back home or of the electric bursts of energy that pocked thunderclouds. And since none of the fire was being directed at me, I could stand back and marvel at the sight for the first time.

Under a noonday sky and surrounded by fire, Zuko's skin glistened with his effort, almost luminous as the sun recognized her child and kissed him with light. Lean, solid muscle writhed beneath his skin, stretching and flexing with every movement. He turned his back to us, and a bead of sweat trickle down between the paleness of his shoulder blades. My pulse raced, my legs felt a little shaky, and I swallowed. While I noted his height and the breadth of his shoulders, it occurred to me that Zuko was only a teenage, still growing into the fully mature body of the man he would be in just a few short years. The thought that Zuko was not really even in his prime yet brought a lazy smile to my face, and I congratulated myself on the mostly scar-free canvas I'd given nature to work with.

I was startled out of my appreciation by Iroh's booming voice.

"Katara, are you watching Zuko closely?"

"No! I mean, yes. I'm watching his form. _Forms!—_the _Firebending_ forms. I am watching them." I shook my head, flustered. "But not too closely—just enough, and in a purely academic way." My face grew so uncomfortably hot that my eyes watered and I turned my profile aside, avoiding Iroh's scrutiny. The old man was silent for a long moment, but finally—mercifully—he responded with curiously little comment.

"Hm. Good." He turned away, ignoring me again to watch Zuko.

I quietly sighed, rolled my eyes at myself, and returned my attention to Zuko, as well, pointedly restricting my mind from wandering beyond the particulars of his fighting display. As he came to the end of his Kata, he turned and bowed again, and then, to my surprise Iroh instructed me to move to the middle of the deck, too. I walked, uncertainly, to a spot a few feet away from Zuko, and he turned to face me.

"Stance," he commanded, and without thinking, I complied, squatting into the position we had used for breathing. He moved slowly, stretching his arms out as he turned, one hand holding two fingers up in front of him and the other tight-fisted and close to his body. I mimicked his movements, trying to glide in and out of the forms as effortlessly as he did, but the forceful, rigid stops at the completion of each pose were unfamiliar to me. During one particularly challenging pose, involving a complicated windmill swirl of arms and a torturous leg raise, he shook his head.

"No, higher. Keep your leg… No, _straighter_… That's not… _No!_ That arm _down_. Just… wait." Frustrated with me, he abandoned his own pose and beckoned. I stared at him, clueless.

"What?"

"Give me your leg."

"No."

"Katara…."

"Why do you need my leg?"

"Up." His eyes flashed with annoyance and I petulantly kicked my leg out at him. He grabbed my ankle, giving me a warning shake that almost tipped me over, but when I flailed with my arms, he caught my wrist with his other hand and steadied me.

Still frowning an admonishment, he shifted his grip so his thumbs supported the underside of my ankle and he began to lift my leg. I was surprised when I rrealized he was helping me stretch and wrinkled my nose when the strain in the back of my leg became uncomfortable. Sensing I was at my limit, Zuko held my leg steady; my heel was on his shoulder—a position that felt extremely awkward. It didn't help matters when he ran one hand down the back of my leg to knead my hamstring.

"Stop that."

"Stop what? I'm not doing anything."

"You are, too."

"Don't be a child, Katara. I'm just helping you stretch. Your flexibility is laughable."

"You'll laugh when I kick you in the head." All I got was a low chuckle.

"I'd like to see you try that." The hand he still had on my ankle twisted against my bone, forcing my leg to roll toward his neck as he took a lower stance, and consequently, I had to pivot sideways to avoid falling over. I realized I was basically in the pose I'd had so much trouble with. Zuko's skin was hot against the top of my bare foot.

"This is the position," he explained. "Rotate your hip more, and flex your foot." He held me in that pose for a minute or so, continuing to stretch my leg and letting my body memorize the position. He instructed me through the correct arm movements and then, satisfied, released me. He gestured for my other leg, which I gave him without complaint, and stretched that one for me, as well. The rest of the forms seemed easier to follow along with, after that—or maybe I was trying harder in fear that Zuko would invade my personal space again—and eventually, we finished, facing one another. Zuko bowed to me and I repeated the gesture I had seen him and Iroh make, my fist against my open palm. Zuko moved forward, his hands curling around mine to separate them, lowering my fist beneath my other hand. I licked my lips, and he raised his eyebrow.

"Fair." I seethed at his judicious assessment, and he smirked. "Well, show me what you've really got, then."

With a clap and a gesture to a crewman who was currently mopping the deck, Iroh had a bucket placed at my feet. I stared at it, raising my hands to twitch above the foamy water. It sloshed in response, but I was hesitant to bend it free of its container. I glanced up and saw Zuko watching me intently before he sighed at my delay.

"You seem shocked," he noted, but the look in his eyes was far too content for my comfort. I had no idea why he would be happy about the prospect of me dousing him with water.

"Isn't this just a little reckless?" I settled my hands on my hips. "I mean, all this caution and now suddenly, you want me to fight you with Waterbending?" The wry twitch of Zuko's mouth angered me.

"You mean, out here, with me _and Uncle_ completely focused on your every move? I _expect _to fight you here, Katara. You're supposed to be aggressive. Even as weak and unpracticed as I am right now, you still won't beat me." I had to laugh to myself at that; if I knew Zuko at all, I was sure he'd done little but practice and rebuild his strength since waking up. "You could try, really try to escape, but it wouldn't work, and then I'd revoke this privilege and you'd be back in your cabin, staring at that three-footed bird."

I crossed my arms over my chest. Maybe I wouldn't be able to escape now, but after I practiced a little, after Zuko and Iroh had decided they'd suitably cowed me… the rest of Zuko's speech interrupted my thoughts of liberation. Zuko's shoulders seemed to slump as he took another step toward me.

"You're bored. You're incredibly irritable." His tone had softened, almost wistful, and he acted as though he planned to reach for me, his arm falling back to his side the second he noticed its movement. His expression hardened. "If I can't wear you out with sparring, then I'll find a less pleasant way to exhaust you until you can't with fight me." My face went pale and I glared at his insinuation. He shook his head.

"Why does your mind always automatically go _there_?" he asked, mockingly, but then I clearly saw _his_ mind go there and his pale skin reddened. He cleared his throat, jerking his stare away from me, and moved to return to his side of the sparring field. "Bend or swab things, Katara," he called over his shoulder. "It's your choice."

I made my choice by slapping him in the back with a soapy wave.

* * *

Thus ends Chapter 11. I want to thank everyone for sticking with me through the lull and not giving up on reading this fic, and I want to welcome the new readers who have just found it. Thanks for all the encouraging comments you've left; it keeps me coming back to it, even when RL is out of control.

**AnaAza: **Thanks. I'm glad you liked the way the conversation went between Zuko and Iroh. My beta really helped me clean that up.

**Densharr:** Zhao makes a good villain. Here, he's not the ultimate villain, and he won't be making any reappearances as a ghost or anything. But I'm glad I could send him out with a nice, fiery death.

**783c9v3s:** I can't figure out if you meant you wanted them to be in the same scene or if you wanted them to hook up. I have to warn you, anyone who is expecting them to fall madly in love, get married, and make babies with no problems in the next chapter is going to be frustrated. In my mind, there are just too many issues between them that have to be dealt with. This isn't going to be a fic where they both completely ignore what's important to them. It's going to have a lot places where they'll get progressively closer to each other, but that's really the story, and I'm not going to be rushing it for a cheap thrill.

**ArrayePL:** I think this chapter more shows that Katara's being the harsh one. Of course, things are going to happen that will keep shifting the balance, sometimes Katara will be the more reluctant one and sometimes it will be Zuko.

**hg-always:** I hope from here out that I don't end up with another lull that long.

**BeastlySmalless:** I don't know if you're disappointed in this chapter, or not. My beta seemed to have the same idea that you seem to—that her touching him while he slept means that they're prone to confess their love as soon as he wakes up. I just don't see it that way. To me, there's a big difference between being comfortable around someone in a coma and being comfortable while they're awake, with the entirety of their personality bearing down on you. Zuko doesn't know what happened while he was asleep, and I think Katara would be horrified if he found out. Similarly, Katara has no idea what Zuko dreamed, and he's not the type to just give her a summary. They're both very proud individuals and have no reason to believe the other would be magically interested in the them… so, yes, there's some confusion and questioning. I realize that a lot of people want this to hurry up and just want to get to the love scenes, but rushing that would really screw up the entire plot and just feel really artificial to me.

**uffda1nat:** Thanks! The conversation with Iroh was really hard to wrestle out and my beta helped point out a lot of things that Zuko would be dealing with that I'd neglected to reflect on in my first draft.

**Animus of Masada:** My beta also really helped with keeping Iroh in character. I went sort of crazy with him. I hope I can continue to keep him Iroh-ish.

**FIRE LADY OREN:** Thanks for the praise. As for how I come up with stuff… I don't really feel like I do. It's weird. I have the characters in my head, and they sort of play through the scene and I write down what they do and say. I don't know if anyone else tackles the writing process that way, but that's how it goes for me. I just try my best to make the writing convey the scene they performed for me.

**sulea:** I know… I don't especially like writing the chapters where they aren't together, but sometimes I just can't gloss over things adequately to fully explain what's going on, and solo chapters are necessary. This chapter was pretty heavy on the interaction and the following chapter will be heavy on the interaction… then, I'm sorry to say that we'll have a couple of chapters of them being on their own (or, I might put both POVs in one chapter to save time), but the chapters will be really important for a plot shift and for taking them into a new phase of the story (hint: we'll be off the ship, running wild in the Earth Kingdom). After that, though, we'll have a good number of chapters that will be all Zutara, all the time. I can't promise that we'll never have chapters in which they won't be together, but I won't do it without a reason.

**Alaksandra:** I'm glad you like the dynamic between Katara and Zuko; I hope I keep it up and not drown it with plot or drama. It feels like a balancing act. The hard part, I'm afraid, is going to be getting them together and making (a waking) Zuko someone Katara can accept without completely changing his character or emasculating him. I want to keep him a little dangerous.

**riryuuen23:** I hope to put in more classic Zutara elements to keep you guys happy but with a twist that keeps it from seeming way too gratuitous. I enjoyed writing the dream world because it was a good chance to touch on a kinder, gentler Fire Nation, but I'm not sure it would sustain a story. There's not a lot of conflict there. Maybe a series of one-shots. I'll get back into the dream later on, show more about what it means, so maybe that will help clear it up for you… maybe not.

**Heartagram-VilleZuko:** Haha. Wow. Skipping school to read my story is a great compliment; although, I'm sorry I tempted you that way. Education is important! I hope the rest of the story is as appealing to you.

**katspaws:** I'm sorry you got to the end of the tenth chapter and didn't have anything else to read for so long. I hate having the long pauses. But since you don't like things to end, you might be interested in knowing that I plan for this to be a fairly long fic. There's still a lot I have planned for these two. Thanks for the stars.

**KraZiiePyrozHavemoreFun:** I've touched on how I think Zuko feels at this point. Yeah, he acknowledges there are residual feelings there. But if you're the Prince of the Fire Nation and the rest of the world is your enemy, and you kidnap a Water Tribe girl for the purpose of capturing the Avatar… and then you have a dream about her… what do you really do with that? Is a dream enough to make you betray everything you think is important? That's what Zuko has to decide, and at this point, he doesn't even know what Katara feels for him. It might all be moot.

**Raddestnerdever:** I also want some hanky panky. I have an advantage in that I can prewrite hanky panky… but you won't see it until it fits in the story. I'm going to continue to tease them with the romantic interludes. Sadly, fate is going to conspire against them for a while—that's not to say I'm going to keep them completely platonic. Physical attraction is going to add to the turmoil.

**Chibinelly:** Wow. It was really nice of you to comment on every chapter as you read. Yeah, I don't like Zhao as a character; writing for him makes me feel like I need a shower. I'm glad he's dead too, and it makes for some interesting repercussions, which I'll touch on in the next chapter. (And no, I haven't abandoned this.)

**iShoutacake:** Your SN always makes me do a double take. At least I got this chapter up within a month of you poking. That's still way too long, I know!

**waterone:** I wasn't sure anyone was paying any attention to the status on my page. I'm glad it helps.

**Astraea:** Thanks for the praise. I'm glad that you think I'm delving into Zuko's character adequately.

**Nene428:** I am continuing the story. I might have lulls and get busy with work and such, but I'm not going to abandon the story… I guess, theoretically, if I make a mess of it and everyone stops reading, I might call it a wash. But at long as I still have at least one reader, I'm committed to finishing it out.

**Princess-of-thieves6:** Thanks for the encouragement!


	12. Repression

Chapter 12 – Repression

ZUKO

* * *

"What are you doing?"

"Writing."

"What are you writing?"

"A letter."

"Who are you writing a letter to?"

"My father."

"Why is it so hard?"

I cast my brush aside with an irritated thunk that splattered ink across my desk, and I stared at Katara. Unflinching blue met my glare—when had she stopped being afraid of me?—and my gaze drifted down to the small mountain of wadded paper piled on the floor, peaks of cream parchment sheltering unacceptable smears of black. I sighed as she stood to move closer.

"I'm trying to explain to him why Zhao is dead."

"Oh." I could hear the realization in her voice, and I shrugged. "Can't you just tell him the truth?"

I considered that for a moment, tilting my head from side to side to stretch my neck. I wasn't sure I even knew what the truth was anymore. What I did know was that I couldn't tell my father I had killed the Admiral of his navy because I didn't want him to take a girl away from me—a Waterbender I'd loved in a world that didn't actually exist.

"No." I almost laughed. "The truth's no good. He'll still think I'm a traitor." I scanned the parchment I had just branded with an apology and decided it was a confusing combination of kowtowing terror and knee-jerk defiance. With a heavy sigh, I began crumpling it, but Katara's touch stopped me. I swiftly drew away, afraid my hands would shake under hers.

"Let me hear what you have so far." I was hesitant and suspicious. I had learned to be wary whenever Katara seemed helpful, but she persisted. "I'm pretty good at speeches, you know." I rolled my eyes but obediently stretched out my scroll and smoothed the weights over the dried ink to erase my crinkles. With an uncertain glance up at her, I cleared my throat.

"Illustrious Fire Lord Ozai—"

"_That's_ what you call your _father_?"

"When I've killed his Admiral, it is." Katara shrugged at my aggitated tone and I continued. "By now, it has come to your attention that Admiral Zhao is dead. I am ashamed that you have not heard this from my own lips as I hand you the Avatar—" Katara gasped in offense, and I glared, raising my voice to talk over her protesting sounds "—but such circumstances have been, until now, out of my control. Admiral Zhao sought to interfere in my capture of the Avatar and, thus, my reclamation of my honor and birthright. Such interference against the Prince of his nation can only be construed as an obvious gambit for power and a plot against the natural order of succession. Common men…." This time, a haughty, little laugh and a muttered _please_ gave me pause and lit my annoyance.

"Do you want me to read this or not?" Katara sobered herself and gestured for me to continue.

"Common men cannot be allowed to take such privilege. I did not seek to kill Zhao; he brought his fight to me, and I saw no choice but to oblige him. I knew, had you been there, you would have insisted I defend my honor and my rights as your son, and you would have been made proud by the strength and prowess I displayed—"

"Do you really need to brag?" she interrupted, again.

"Are you incapable of silence?" She rolled her eyes but pursed her lips tightly together, and I warily watched her for signs of continued commentary for a few moments before I read on.

"Gaining victory even after Zhao's despicable behavior. I am not without regret that you are now deprived of your Admiral, and I beg you to understand that his demise was in defense of the sanctity of our family's honor and not an act against you or the Fire Nation, which I love, defend, and attempt to glorify with my every action." I frowned at the remaining length of empty space. "That's all I have. I feel like I should add something about trying to be a good son or that Azula would have done the same thing."Actually, Azula would have done worse. I felt like crumpling the sheet again.

"It's not _bad_." I felt my mouth twist into a defensive frown. What did she know about corresponding with men as important as my father? "But it needs something…I don't know—stronger, I guess. You sound like you feel guilty."

"I do feel guilty," I unthinkingly blurted out. Katara tilted her head to the side. "Well…." My nostrils flared and my gazed darted around the room as I tried to figure out what she wanted me to say. "It's not like I _wanted_ to kill him. I had to."

"No one ever _has_ to kill anyone." Her hands were on her hips now, and she was standing over my writing table with the I-know-better-than-you expression that had become all-too familiar lately. I scoffed.

"That's your passivist Airbender talking." Katara's stern expression turned startled.

"He's not _my _Airbender." She closed her eyes and shook her head to clear it of the stray topic. "It doesn't matter whose philosophy it is; there had to be another way."

"Trust me. There wasn't." I was sure of that, but Katara raised her eyebrows as if challenging me to prove her wrong. She could be so infuriating. "What was I _supposed_ to do? Just let him take you away?"

"Yes." The bald word sat between us, stark and gut-wrenching. "I would rather have gone with Zhao than watch him die because of me. Aang and Sokka would have rescued me, no matter whose prisoner I was." I didn't point out that her time as a prisoner under Zhao would have been greatly shortened—but not for the reason she assumed.

"Well… I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because." I lowered my gaze back to the scroll to end the conversation, but Katara's inquisition would not be placated by my one-word answer. Her stare bored a hole into my forehead until I finally looked up. "Because…." I had to fight my way through a mire of damning reasons until I finally remembered what this was all about. "The Avatar."

"Oh." Did she sound disappointed? "Right." Her curiosity apparently sated, Katara shifted backward to slump down onto my trunk and began worrying the hem of the blue robe she had worn nearly every day since her capture. My eyes were already on her, habitually cataloging the details of her appearance, so I noticed the play of her fingers over the material.

"You need new clothes."

"What?" She looked up at me, and I gestured to the frayed edge she was fingering.

"_You need new clothes._ When we stop at the next port, I'll purchase some for you." I could already picture her in elegant brocades and form-hugging silks—I'd had help with the visual—but Katara predictably narrowed her eyes at me and twisted her mouth into a grimace.

"Thanks," she answered in a drawn out, sarcastic way, "but I'll pass. If the hem offends you, oh,_ Illustrious _Fire Prince, then I'll just mend it. Do you have any needle and thread on the ship?" I sighed, concluding that she would consider new clothes to be a gift and that gifts from the _Fire Prince_ were unacceptable. I recalled the small battle of even making her sleep in my shirt.

I wondered what she slept in now.

"If you enjoy sewing, I'm sure I saw a couple of fabric bolts in the hold. Uncle won't mind donating them; I doubt he even remembers he bought them." She scrunched her face into an adorable expression of distaste.

"They're probably red."

"You do look good in red." I cringed at the dreamy quality of my voice—too eager, too familiar—and I felt my skin flush. I knew Katara had heard something in my voice, too, because she turned snappish.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean… you look good in bed—in my head. I mean you—I can imagine you in red... when I think about you." I quickly shook my head and held up my hands before me. "Not that I think about you in bed… or anywhere else!" I felt the heat flare within me, my fluster giving way to anger at my inability to talk to girls. "I do not dream about you!"

"What!"

"What?" I quickly repeated Katara's startled question, forcing a perplexed expression in answer to her bewildered one. She just stared at me. "What's your problem?" I finally accused. "You're acting so paranoid, lately!" I quickly jerked my gaze toward the opposite wall, my face swiftly following to hide my embarrassment, and waited in silence for her to call my bluff. What was _wrong_ with me?

I remembered commandeering the life of a man who could say the right thing. Endearments and pretty phrases had poured easily from his lips, making Katara blush and flutter her lashes in deliciously flirty ways. He had never fumbled through his dialog or stammered with a tongue tied by infatuation. Maybe his Katara had just made things so much easier for him. I could hear mine groaning out a loud sigh, and I could imagine her crossing her arms and pursing her mouth behind me.

"I'm sorry." I was surprised by Katara's random apology, and I spun around to face her again. Half the time, I felt I should be the one apologizing to her, even though I didn't make a habit of being contrite. Whatever apologies I made would be taken as insincere as long as I refused to rectify her situation. I might be guilty, but I was still far from penitent.

"Why?"

"Because I messed up. I healed you, but obviously, you came back wrong." My frown made her fidget.

"Wrong?"

She considered the word for a moment and then shook her head. "Different."

Katara periodically lamented about having botched my healing, about having missed something important. I must have suffered a mysteriously untreatable head trauma, she had assessed; otherwise, how could you explain the weird expressions she said I kept having, the way I kept saying odd things with odd intonations and kept getting that daft look in my eyes?

I assumed her distress was more a matter of pride—Katara a staunch perfectionist when it came to her bending—than any real regret that I wasn't fully intact. Katara had never liked me, and she would not miss whichever piece of me she thought to be lost. I desperately wished that she could have been correct in her diagnosis. If it had been some lingering default of my body, I gladly would have burned it out or taken a sword to it, but the truth of my condition was so much less bearable.

_I_ _remembered._

The dream should have faded. It had no right to linger, attaching so stubbornly to my mind. I welcomed neither the confusion it wrought nor the frustration of unrequited longings that belonged to someone else. I could hardly summon the particulars of lesser dreams I'd had during my life, but no waking memory seemed any stronger than those I had made while Katara healed me. Learning to sail had felt just as real as receiving my scar, and my excitement for helping the world had been every bit as strong as my obsession with the Avatar. I could clearly recall the events, people, and feelings from that world–another lifetime stuffed into my two weeks of convalescence—but most vividly, I remembered Katara.

I remembered what her fingers felt like threaded between mine, like slivers of blown glass in the teeth of an iron gear.

I remembered the taste of stewed sea prunes and how I had only eaten them because she had promised me a kiss for each one I choked down. As I had set to consuming my food with avarice, I had imagined that someday all her kisses would be mine and how instead of a gangly prince eating sea prunes, I would reward her with silks, jewels, and palanquins.

I remembered that a half smile meant I'd _almost_ won an argument, that a full smile meant shedecidedly had, and that a genuine frown required my immediate and abject apology for starting the argument in the first place.

I remembered a tan face that smiled and blue eyes that brightened to the point of absurd whenever their gaze fell on me—so different from the darkened, murky colors of this Katara's glare.

I remembered how loudly my heart had thumped when she had leaned against me, pressing her back to my chest the day I had found her at the ship's railing—how tightly I had fought to clutch the bar so I wouldn't foolishly wrap my arms around her. I remembered how many pieces my heart had fallen into after she had failed to show any concern for me when I asked her why she had stayed and how loudly it had thrilled when she had absently told me she was glad I'd woken up. I feared it was only a matter of time before I was driven mad by the war between my need to be close to Katara and the complete necessity of pushing her away.

I mourned her absence from my cabin, but I no longer trusted myself to have her so accessible. I feared such proximity might tempt me to assault her with a bumbling physical gesture or worse—make some kind of romantic overture, like writing her a love letter or reciting poetry—so I gave her another room. Uncle had been disturbingly enthusiastic about helping furnish it, eager to give my harpy-rat her own little nest. Still, it had been too difficult to stay away after that first week of self-imposed restriction.

She became venomous if Uncle or I neglected her; she was constantly bored, pacing her small room like a trapped animal. I was always finding excuses to visit her cabin, to call her to mine, or to stroll along the deck together. I was wary when we were out near the water, waiting for her to rattle her cage and jolt me out of my complacency. We ate most of our meals in each other's company, and we still sparred every day during my training time with Uncle. She seemed happiest during that too-brief hour.

So did I.

I lived for training, now. It had always been the best part of my day, but my previous devotion to my fighting discipline could not compare to the way I now looked forward to it from the moment I woke until the moment she had drawn the first drop from her buckets. It was the one time when this Katara and my dream Katara were the same. Azula would say I was being a dummy, but even if a fortune teller had promised she would lay waste to the entire deck and escape on a wave, I doubt I could have found the resolve to bar Katara from training. The way her eyes lit up with the joy of bending, the way she moved, as fluid and graceful as the water she wielded, and the way we cracked and sizzled against each other were all just too tempting a display.

And she was a marvel to watch; she learned so quickly. Even though Uncle wasn't a Master Waterbender, she easily grasped his instruction of the Waterbending techniques he had somehow studied, and she modified ancient Firebending forms to fit her own element. In some ways, her prowess reminded me of training with Azula as children, of the way she hurtled past me in skill level even though I was her elder. I had to scramble as much as I had back then just to keep ahead of her progress. If we didn't always practice when the sun was at its highest, I knew it would not have been long before she could have beaten me. I realized, now, why I had been a better bender in that other world.

I decided that training my enemy was by far the stupidest thing I could ever do.

I wasn't even close.

.

.~***~.

.

Music night was Uncle's morale builder. During my three years of exile, he had steadily collected an assortment of instruments, every port becoming an exercise in haggling over horns, pipes, or stretched-leather drums. Whenever he heard of a crewman's talent in playing, he made it his mission to procure the piece necessary to add one more member to his motley orchestra, and I had realized the futility of trying to stop him.

It was just as well. The men seemed to enjoy these frivolities—playing and singing during the slow, moonlit hours of the evening with only stars and waves to otherwise entertain them. They played folk songs I only rarely recognized, bawdy ditties they had learned in taverns during our journey, and cacophonous arrangements they made up on the spot. Occasionally, they would stumble into a court song, and it was then that I would wander to the far end of the ship where the music barely touched me.

As the first, off-key notes of Leaves of the White Lotus or the jarring melody that was meant to be Fall Sun Rhapsody began, I would close my eyes and try to force away the memory of the last time I had heard them played with any skill. I could not begrudge my men these moments of raucous fun, slices of a home we had not seen through almost three cycles of the seasons, but as a rule, I did not join them. I always insisted it was a waste of time, but thanks to Uncle's meddling, tonight would be the exception.

I leaned against the wall of the tall bridge tower, cloaked in the shadows of its overhang. I kept one eye on the night sky, while the other watched Uncle dance with Katara. I had railed against this idea, I had forbidden it, I had threatened to hang anyone who assisted him with it, and yet, there she was, out on the deck in the moonlight, twirling under Uncle's arm and laughing. Katara might loathe me, but I had learned that anyone with any kind of heart found it impossible to dislike Uncle. This was not the first of my limits he had broken—I had also expressly forbidden tea time, despite his pouting lower lip and the little-boy tone he used when he thought I was being unfair—still, Katara was somehow now magically well versed in the differences between Ginseng and Jasmine and had started saying things like, "It's better to be without food for three days than without tea for one." It was exactly the foolish sort of notion she would pick up from Uncle.

Even without the threat of discovery by Zhao, it would have been cruel to throw Katara back into a cell, and I don't think I could have stomached her enduring such discomfort, now, anyway. She was cooperating, and as long as she made no trouble—beyond what she seemed intent on causing me on a personal level—I saw no reason to be inhospitable. Letting her out on the deck with an ocean at her command and the full moon to bolster her, however, was beyond madness, even if all she did was dance.

Why had she stayed? Why had she healed me at all? My nights were plagued with the effort of trying to figure her out. Uncle was right—if she really had been determined to leave, she could have. I wouldn't believe I was capable of truly controlling her—not knowing her as well as I thought I did now—especially when I tolerated security lapses like this one. Katara was toying with me, biding her time for something, maybe trying to pry Fire Nation secrets out of my crew. But it wasn't _me_. It wasn't the idea that there could be an _us_. _She_ wasn't crippled by the same ridiculous, incapacitating notions.

Uncle inexpertly dipped Katara and then wrapped her up in his arms, his overgrown belly getting in the way. As he spun her back out, he clumsily lost his grip on her hand. Katara careened toward me and I straightened, my arms instinctively opening to catch her. She was breathless from dancing, her cheeks were flushed with exertion and excitement, and her blue eyes sparkled in the moonlight. My arms were loosely cradled around her; the music was still playing. Time seemed to freeze as I held her, but then Uncle cried out.

"Oh! My back!" He made a show of trying to reach an arm around his girth to support himself and hobbled toward a crate that had been dragged up near the musicians, gushing apologies. "I am far too old to keep up, Katara. Dance with Prince Zuko. He is young and fit and a much better dancer." Uncle slapped his belly a couple of times to emphasize his excuse, and I glared. Uncle was _never_ clumsy. I looked down at Katara and swallowed.

A much better dancer—he would be surprised by how true that was. My countrymen did not dance, but in a world free from the incessant march of Imperialism, there would have been room for dancing. In that world, I had spent an abundance of time in the company of a mother who had loved the art. I was surprised that I could see something of my mother in Katara. Not physically, of course—her dark skin held nothing of similarity to my mother's delicate ivory coloring; she was too short to match the late Fire Lady's statuesque form; and the blue of her eyes was almost alien in comparison. It was her resolve, rather, her will and her kindness that I recognized. There was just something… _good_ about Katara.

I realized I was still glaring. Katara's face had taken on that shadow it seemed to have whenever she looked at me. No matter what she had been doing, no matter her mood, darkness always crossed her features when I somehow gained her attention. Perhaps it was the fact that I was determined to capture her friend, perhaps I reminded her that, no matter how soft her cell now, she was still my prisoner, or perhaps it was just blind hatred. But tonight, I could not seem to bear the shadow; I could not stand the way her face fell as I glared down at her or the way the kindness seeped out of her eyes to reveal her disdain. No, Uncle was never clumsy.

My right hand tightened on her waist, and I dropped my left to clasp the hand that dangled at her side, lifting it to shoulder height. Her gaze flick to our joined hands and then quickly settle on my eyes again. There was no delight in her face, now, but no hatred, either. She was nervous. _I_ was nervous. Her other hand moved, raising and lowering in halting movements as she decided whether to land it on my shoulder, but she eventually did, her fingers confidently settling against me as if they already knew my contours.

This was not something I should have been doing. It was too familiar, too dangerous—I suddenly panicked with the need to double check the bulge in my inner vest pocket, even though I knew nothing would be there. I told myself that I should let go of her hand, but I tightened my grip, instead, and stepped to my left, guiding her by the waist to match my movement.

Katara was not nearly as graceful in dancing as she was in bending, but she was just as quick a study. As soon as she recognized the pattern of the dance, she was able to anticipate it, and just as in sparring, I began throwing in angled steps, hop steps, and turns to throw her off balance. Her mouth curled up in challenge when she realized what I was doing. It was better that way—dancing was foreign ground between us; we both understood competition.

We moved swiftly across the deck, and as we passed the musicians, I saw Uncle gawking. He sat slack jawed until it occurred to him to elbow the sungi horn player. "He gets it from me," I heard him boast before I guided Katara, shaking my head and reveling in her answering smile, farther away from the crewmen.

As the last notes of the melody lilted across the deck, we clung to one another, stretching the dance well into an imagined echo of the song's end until our feet slowed and stilled. Standing silently, I was no longer really aware that the men and my uncle were watching, and I stared down at Katara. Finally, it occurred to me that something was missing.

"The music has stopped."

"Music?" Her voice was soft, a little lost in the haze we had somehow created as if we'd really surrounded ourselves with steam from sparring. "Oh, that... that the men... were..." She was lost again, and my mind stepped after her into the fog.

"Men?" Hadn't it been only the two of us? "Right, mine... the playing. They've stopped..." My eyelids felt strangely heavy, half shuttered as I tried to remember what they'd stopped doing.

"Playing," she repeated, and I nodded dumbly. Our joined hands slowly dropped down between us, and I shifted my grip, sliding my fingers between hers.

"The strings and the... pipes and... um..." I swallowed. "Blue."

Her eyes were so obnoxiously blue, her tan skin so radiant under the full moon that I could not help but lift my hand from her waist to brush the backs of my fingers over her silver-dusted cheek. In answer, she tilted her face into the touch. My heart leapt into my throat, and I was sure if I tried to speak, she would be able to see it there, sitting stupidly on the back of my tongue. Katara searched my gaze, and I would have given anything in that moment to know what she was looking for so that I could have pulled it out and offered it to her.

"Zuko..." She licked her lips as she closed her eyes, and I slowly leaned forward.

"Prince Zuko!"

Slammed back into its proper place, my racing heart sped blood through my veins again, and I felt color invade my cheeks. Katara's eyes snapped open, dismayed as she looked up at me, only just now recognizing me as the villain she hated. She glanced down to where our hands were still intertwined and shook hers out of my grasp, and I clenched my teeth together and took a step backward. Disappointed, I abruptly turned toward the soldier who had burst out of the bridge tower waving a slip of rolled parchment. It would probably defeat the morale-boosting goal of Music Night if I killed him.

"What?" He hurried toward me, bowing briefly before offering me the paper.

"This was just received by messenger hawk." I stretched the small scroll and read its contents several times. I could sense Katara's unease in the lagging silence. I looked up and gave my orders—not that they would make her feel any better.

"Lieutenant Jee, I want full engines. We make for the Bahjon Strait." He nodded, though confused, and I added, "The Avatar has been spotted." I felt the urge in my excitement to triumphantly crush the parchment in my fist, but I paused and turned, handing it to Katara, instead. I hoped the mention in the report about the Avatar's healthy Water Tribe companion would win me some small forgiveness for the sacrilege I was preparing to commit.


	13. Decision

Don't get too excited about the length… there's quite a bit of response to reviewers at the end. The story content is a little over 4K words.

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Chapter 13 – Decision

KATARA

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"Stop doing that!" Zuko pulled on me until my toes slipped over the lip of the step, and he dragged me five or six steps higher before I managed to hook the edge of another. "Katara! I mean it; stop or I'll—"

"You'll what? Force me up the stairs and lock me in my cabin?" He had the decency to sound sheepish, even as he continued his admonishment.

"You shouldn't have tried bending against me."

A dull ache still radiated across the center of my back where I had hit the deck when Zuko swept my legs out from under me. Still, the pain had been worth the brief moment of euphoria I had felt when I raised my arms, the brine cold and immense as it started to surge up the side of the ship and over the edge of the deck. I could almost feel the grainy fluid between my fingers, the entire ocean a weapon to crash against him, but Zuko had been too fast. He must have been expecting it, and I was still in awe of his reflexes.

"What did you expect me to do?" I was breathless, fighting against him as he wrestled me up the remaining steps and onto the landing. "Was I supposed to just—ugh," I grunted out a sharp breath as Zuko roughly jerked me higher into his arms, "—happily send you off to hunt Aang?"

"You were supposed to—Agni!" While he had been opening the door leading off the landing, I had managed to wedge my ankle between the bars that sectioned off the stairwell. "You were supposed to cooperate in exchange for your freedom," he growled, shifting me into a tight, one-armed hold while he used his other hand to free my trapped limb.

I thwarted the extraction, shoving my shin farther through the bars as I answered him. "I'm pretty sure we covered that in our earlier negotiations," I spat. "You can just keep me forever!"

Zuko paused. His hold did not ease, but he raised his eyebrow and worked his mouth around a silent question.

I blinked, trying to figure out what I had just said in my indignation and then, vigorously shook my head. "I mean that I'm not letting you use me to capture Aang, no matter what you do to me! Does that sound familiar?" His response was a tired, frustrated sigh.

"I'm not going to do anything to you, Katara, except make you stay put until you come to your senses." I lost my claim on the railing, and Zuko pulled me into the narrow corridor.

"I _am_ coming to my senses," I angrily insisted, "for the first time in weeks!"

I let my knees go slack, and Zuko, who had been struggling against the opposing force of my previous kicks, had to shift backward to keep my dead weight from pulling him down. The instant I felt his upward tug, I pushed off with my feet, catapulting us back against the wall. Zuko grunted as his torso cushioned the impact, his breath whooshing out, hot against my neck. Too late to matter, I grimaced at the thought of a valve, a torn rivet, or some other sharp thing jabbing into his back, but I couldn't let sympathy for Zuko slow me down. I threw my legs up, planted my feet on the opposite wall, and forced him backward, again. He rebounded against the metal this time, stumbling and dragging me down with him.

We writhed in a gasping mess of tangled limbs, but I managed to break away and scramble to my knees while he lay groaning. As I lurched toward the door, Zuko recovered enough to grab my ankle, tripping me flat. He awkwardly groped at my legs, yanking me back toward him. He climbed over my body, trapping my arms at my sides, and pressed me to the floor.

I struggled a little longer, thrashing beneath him. When I finally exhausted myself, I stilled. His face hovered over mine, so I turned my head until the metal floor pressed coolly against my flushed cheek. Zuko's hands slid from my wrists to my upper arms, and despite being winded, he gave me an angry shake.

"You're like a rabid moose lion! Why is the Avatar so _important_ to you?" he demanded.

"Why is he so important to _you_?" I countered, meeting his glare.

"He's an enemy of the Fire Nation." Zuko's chest heaved against mine.

"He's a _12-year-old_ _boy_!"

"Boy or not," he raged, his fingers tightening around my arms, "my father won't let me come home without him!" I blinked, shocked into silence by the reminder. I took no satisfaction in Zuko's banishment; I didn't think it was right for anyone to be forced from their home. The angry constriction around my heart eased, and the tension left my arms. Zuko's grip slackened, but then, I shook my head. I truly wanted him to return to the Fire Nation someday—the farther away the better, for Aang—but not like this.

"He's my friend, Zuko. And he's the world's only hope for peace. Give this up before it's too late… before you do something you can't take back." Zuko shattered my optimism with a ragged sigh and a shake of his moppish, black hair, which had fallen forward, nearly brushing my cheeks.

"You're asking me to be weak and sentimental. I won't."

"I'm asking you to do the right thing. That's not a weakness."

"Tell that to my father."

I groaned in frustration and resumed the struggle to free myself from his weight. "Do you really think that taking Aang to the Fire Nation is going to make your father love you, Zuko? It's not! People don't just stop loving you. And they don't suddenly start again because you did something they wanted. Real love doesn't work that way!"

Rage took over Zuko's expression. "Just because Uncle told you a few stories over a cup of tea, don't pretend you know _anything_ about my life... or my father."

My defiant glare was every bit as fierce. "I know this isn't going to get you what you want. Whatever you think you'll gain by catching Aang—it won't be real. You'll still be dead inside." I regretted the hateful words the moment I'd spoken them, but I knew no amount of retracting or apologizing would have softened Zuko's expression as he sat back on his haunches, straddling my thighs. I wasn't sure I'd ever seen him look so cold as he answered me.

"Then, maybe healing me was a waste of time."

He stood and jerked up on my wrists to haul me to my feet. It took me a few seconds to get my rubbery legs back under me, and I was too tired and unbalanced to put up much of a fight the rest of the way to my cabin. Zuko dragged me into the room, and when he shoved me away from him, I pitched toward a low altar, slamming my palms into the edge to catch myself. I panted as I leaned over the altar, desperately trying to figure out what I could possibly say, now, to change Zuko's mind. Behind me, he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Katara." His voice sounded hollow, like an echo of someone I had almost known. "I don't want to do this to you, but I can't risk your interference."

"You don't have to do _any_ of this, Zuko," I reminded him without turning. "Please, don't be someone I have to hate." I thought I heard the whisper of a sigh.

"I wish I could make you understand. I don't have a _choice_."

I closed my eyes and slipped my hands onto the altar top. My fingers brushed something solid, and I looked down to see a garish platter of bronze, beaten into a stylized sun. I curled my fingers around the disc, tensed my arms, and whispered, "Then, neither do I."

With no other warning, I spun and hurled the disc at Zuko with all my strength. He was taken off his guard, and though he swiftly threw himself backward, the sun still grazed him across the temple, forcing him off his feet. As he landed with a thud, the platter clunked into the wall behind him, a Fire Nation drapery muffling the impact. After a few moments in which I was terrified I might actually have killed him, Zuko sat up, blinking. He touched the side of his face and then, stared at the red fingers he brought away.

He looked up at me with disbelief, as if he'd never laid eyes on me before. "Are you completely mad?" I narrowed my gaze at him and, faster than the real danger could occur to him, I waved my arms, seizing the thin rivulet streaking down his cheek.

"No!" he yelled, starting to scramble upright. Before he could stand, I lifted the blood away from him and slashed it overhead, splitting the ties on the banner. It crumpled, folding down the wall, and landed on top of him, cocooning him in a velvet prison of crimson and black. I ran for the open door. Sliding into the corridor, I bounce against the wall and stumbled toward the end of the hallway. I could hear Zuko roaring in the room behind me. A glow lit the corridor, and I knew that he was free.

When I reached the stairs, I flew down the steps, falling the length of the last flight in my haste and rolling onto the landing. I ignored the pain my shoulder and knees and wrenched open the door to the deck. I could already hear Zuko's light, rapid steps on the stairs above.

The wind caught at my hair, streaming it behind me as I ran out onto the deck, and I stopped to gather my bearings and figure out what I was going to do now. I wouldn't be free until I was completely off this cursed ship.

"Stop her!" I heard Zuko's irate bellow, and I turned to watch him stagger out the door, leaning heavily on the wall. He had the sleeve of his robe pressed to the wound on his head. Guards who had been milling on the deck, shocked into stillness at my sudden eruption from the bridge tower, became animated by their Prince's order. Several ran toward me, and I retreated to the railing. With my back to the ocean, I brought my arms forward in quick succession, each drawing a whip from the drench. The water struck at the guards, forcing them backward, and they slid toward the far side of the deck. Even as I reveled in my triumphant, I froze when I saw a bright light from the corner of my eye. Fire hurtled in my direction, and I turned, shielding my face from the blaze. I hopelessly wrenched more water out of the sea, but it dragged over the railing, too slow to divert the flame.

A heated breeze raised my hair, and I looked over my shoulder. Zuko stood in the center of the deck, grappling the fire under his own control and drawing it toward himself. "I said stop her, not kill her!" he called in a murderous tone, halting the next wave of soldiers, who were suddenly forced to rethink their strategies. Zuko dismissed the flame and ran forward, just as I leapt over the edge of the rail and plunged into the darkness below. I caught myself on a sheet of ice, which I propelled away from the ship. I risked a glance back at the deck in time to see Zuko throw himself over the side of the ship in pursuit.

I gasped and caught him on a wave, holding him high overhead.

"Katara!" he called out to me, trying to break free of the water with which I held him. "You'll only make things worse if you run."

"How could this possibly be worse?" I mirthlessly scoffed. If nothing else, Zuko's determination was impressive. All but at my mercy and he still acted like he owned the world. Firebenders.

"You can't take off in the middle of the night into the ocean, Katara," he reasoned over the sound of the surging wave. "You're going to get yourself hurt."

"You're the only one who's hurting me, Zuko." I cast my gaze about, scanning the horizon. When I found the constellation that marked east, I turned back to him. "As long as you're hunting Aang... you're my enemy." Even in the subtle light of the full moon, I could see his jaw clench.

"Fine, then. Have it your way." He had gotten his arms free and I saw the slopes of my wave illuminated as he began to draw on his flame. I didn't hesitate to fling him back onto his ship, using the momentum of the act to simultaneously push my ice sheet farther away. I threw my arms backward, plowing through the water in the direction I hoped I would soon find the coastline.

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.~***~.

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ZUKO

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I leaned over my writing desk, taking absent-minded inventory of the neatly stacked papers, the ink pot, the brush laid at a right angle, and the crinkled letter I had written to my father. I stretched my fingers across the parchment, tracing the folds that remained from the frustration of its drafting, seeming out of place in the rigid order I had imposed on the rest of the desk. I suddenly decided that the tidy arrangement had no place in the catastrophe I had made of every other part of my life, and I angrily swept my hand across its surface, flinging cups and brushes to the floor. The ink pot shattered against the adjacent wall in a spectacular spray of ceramic and dark liquid. Watery black dripped from the edge of my meditation altar onto the littered floor, and papers drifted down to rest in the mess, the diluted ink soaking into their edges and racing across the fibers.

"It is a good thing I had not yet given you the tea set I bought in Chinao." Uncle's voice startled me out of my tantrum, and I spun to face him. He stood in the doorway of my cabin, holding a pile of soaked clothes away from his belly. He must have collected them from the corridor where I had stripped out of them on my way to my room. Now, I wore dry clothes, but they were not my typical red and black. Uncle surveyed my dark gray pants and tunic and watched as I took a bundle of black from my trunk. Even through the loose wrapping of fabric, I could still feel the contours of the demonic sneer.

"Spirits walk the ship tonight, I see."

Casting my gaze aside so my expression would not betray my guilt, I returned to the chore my tirade had interrupted and stuffed the mask and a spare change of robes into my duffel. "Aren't banished princes entitled to the help of the spirits," I asked him over my shoulder.

My hope was thin and meatless. Its old joints rattled and sun had bleached its bones. But I wrapped myself around it every day, letting it wear me like a ragged robe, and as creaking and stilted as it was, it still held me up when it felt like everything else that made me who I was had been stripped away. I had let hope carry me through too many weathering years on the sea, and I could no longer tell what color it was. Tonight, it might as well be blue.

I heard the splunk of wet fabric on the floor, and Uncle crossed the room to inspect my packing.

"You should take a moment to think things through, Nephew," he told me, gently.

"She's out there, _wandering_ the _ocean, _Uncle!" I clutched my duffel in my fists and throttled it, lifting it and slamming it down onto the cleared desk, which moodily groaned under my abuse. Uncle's tone was kind and sympathetic as he tried to reassure me.

"Katara is not foolish. She comes from a sea-faring people, and she is a Waterbender; she can navigate the sea. She will not stray too far, blindly. Either she will go east and make landfall," he predicted with a careless shrug, "or she will return to the ship."

Except the ship was headed north at full steam, and she would never find us in the dark, with no smoke trail to mark our path. I closed my eyes, trying not to imagine her lost on her little ice raft, passing out from exhaustion or cold while her boat melted beneath her.

"I can't wait, here. Every minute we delay, the Avatar could be getting farther away." So could Katara, and even if she didn't get herself killed out on the water, my opportunity to use her to subdue the Avatar was still slipping away faster than rain through my fingers. "I'm going after her. All my plans hinge on her being in my custody when I face the Avatar."

"Zuko..."

I snorted with annoyance, expecting Uncle to urge me to stay. _Do not be hasty, Prince Zuko,_ he would no doubt lecture. _Have a cup of tea,_ _to clear your mind, _he would offer. He would sagely remind me that _the wind that fills a sail can tear a veil_ or recite another proverb that he thought, for some inexplicable reason, would make any sense to me at all. I obligatorily turned to receive his old-man wisdom.

"Do you want me to come with you?" His eyes shone only with concern.

I blinked in surprise. "No," I said and then cleared my throat to strengthen my voice. I was leader here; no matter how fouled my reasoning was by Katara's escape and my warring fury and concern, I had to make decisions, now. "No, you're going to take the ship to the Bahjon Strait and find the Avatar."

"And when I find him?" Uncle's tone was laced with doubt; he knew that I would want to be there when the Avatar was captured, that I wouldn't want to be robbed of the satisfaction brought with the moment I clapped him in irons.

My gaze roamed aimlessly around the desk as I tried to think. Finally, I shoved the last item into my bag, and crossed the room to take my Dao swords from their perch. I slipped them into their scabbard and swung it over my shoulder as I turned toward Uncle.

"You're going to give him a message."

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.~***~.

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KATARA

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The sensation of falling startled me out of my dream and I reflexively sucked in a breath. The waking would have been welcome if not for the sudden cold that surrounded me and the rush of fluid into my lungs. I panicked, thrashing in the water, gulping in more and more of the brine as my body instinctively fought for breath. I had sunken below the surface of the sea, where everything was still and silent. My frenzied movement disturbed nothing, not even the remnants of my broken ice sheet that now lazily drifted back toward the surface; my voiceless screams drew no aid. My soaked robes billowed around me as I floated between the sea floor and the world above. I had escaped Zuko only to drown.

Moonlight penetrated the waves, shining down through the chilled waters. It caught the silver glint of gullfish in its beam, and they effortlessly darted back and forth through the light, as much a part of the water as the salt and the pull of the tide, reminding me that I, too, was of the water. I willed myself to stop trying to breathe, and my aimless movements took on structure, sweeping arcs that drew the water from my chest, even as they lifted me toward the milky sky. I broke through the surface, in the middle of the pounding surf, gasping on the clear air. In the distance, I saw the dark, jagged silhouette of land pasted against the horizon. Waves crashed over me, threatening to drag me under again, but I brought just enough of my lagging energy to bear against a large wave. It washed toward the shore, tossing me forward and leaving me sputtering on the sand as it receded back into the sea.

As much as I loved the water, I spent the next few moments appreciating the bite of rough grains against my cheek and palms. When I was confident of the safety of solid land beneath me, I pushed myself to my knees. My shaking breath waged puffed-war vapor battles with the night air, and I shivered in my wet clothes. As I stood, I bent the water from the fabric, leaving it to disappear into the sand, and then, I trudged up the beach and into the line of trees at the edge of a forest, eager to be out of sight should a particular ship come searching.

La's light guided me as well as it could through the tangle of low-hanging branches, vines, and bushes that littered the forest floor. Now I wished I had kept at least some of the water I had stripped from my hair and clothes for the cold so that I could use it to hack through the vegetation barring my way. I tripped on roots and rocks as I bullied through the underbrush, worried I was wandering in circles, but always, a mottled, silver path seemed to show me a way through the darkness.

Eventually, I came to a clearing, where I could see the moon through the opening of the trees, and I stumbled, falling to my knees. Weariness drew me down to the earth and I curled around the empty feeling in my chest. I felt tears slick across the bridge of my nose and down one temple as I folded my arm beneath the side of my head.

When we first met Aang, Sokka had asked me if I would abandon my family and my people for him, and I had let Aang go off alone because I couldn't sacrifice my life for his mission. A year later, Fate had handed me that choice, again, on the deck of an enemy ship. Now, I hated myself for having been torn, even for that brief heartbeat, between my brother's hand and Zuko's.

Maybe Zuko was right—maybe healing him _had_ been a waste of time. Maybe I would have been doing the world a favor if I had just let him die. My stomach churned at the callous thought. I still knew, even with Zuko strong and whole, that if I had escaped and he had died, I would have carried a strange and unyielding pain with me for the rest of my life. I couldn't let him perish, but I couldn't let him win, either.

Somewhere, deep inside, Zuko had to be compassionate and honorable and all the other good things that ambition had burned out of his father's festering soul. I couldn't fathom that the tense young man who had hidden me in the storage closet, his forehead resting against mine, was destined to commit the same atrocities as Ozai; he couldn't be. I couldn't _feel_ this way about someone who would fight and claw and scrape for the right to follow in such monstrous footsteps... could I?

My rationalizations did me little good, now. I _had_ healed him, and I felt so stupid. I should have spent every minute trying to escape, at least plotting my escape, or at the _very_ _least_ not dancing and holding hands with Zuko. A guilty heat crept up my neck and seeped into my cheeks as I replayed the final moments of our dance, my imagination delving onward to show me what else I had almost done with him.

I had been caught up in marveling at how a plain girl from a decimated tribe—who had never been beyond the ice, who had never seen anything but water, snow, and tiger seals—could travel with the Avatar, visit great cities like Omashu, dine with kings, and command the attention of an enemy prince. I had let myself be lulled by Zuko's unconventional beauty, by his sharp intellect and hidden wit, and by a pain that I just knew I could heal if he would let me get close enough... if he would just let me _change_ him enough.

But Zuko had never changed—his goals had never changed; I was the only one who had tried to paint him as anything other than a villain. Despite my wallowing, I yawned. Sleeping outdoors was nothing new to me. Sleeping without a bedroll and a campfire, without Aang's reassuring _goodnight_ as we all turned in, or the irritating sound of Sokka and Appa snoring nearby was the hard part. Nevertheless, I huddled into my robes and slept fitfully, my dreams picking up again where they had left off on the water, until the screech of a morning gopher lark announced daybreak, all too soon.

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.~***~.

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On to comments. The real danger in going so long between updates (besides losing readers) is that I have so many reviewers to respond to.

**janedoe401:** I'll start with yours because I totally missed responding to your review last round, and you left such lovely comments! Sorry about that. You've pointed out two of my own favorite lines from Zuko's drabblishness. I'm thinking (when this story is over) of doing just a series of shorts in sort of the same style based in an alternate universe.

**Ghostly Green:** Thanks for review! It's funny because I think Iroh is one of the easiest characters to write; I don't have to think very hard when I'm talking for him. If you are having trouble finding good Zutara fic, have you checked out some of the Zutara Live Journal communities? You can get some recommendation lists regarding the "classic" Zutara fics, unless you mean you're looking for newer stuff.

**AnaAza: **Thanks for the love of the unbeta'd version. Iroh is devious; he's a scheming old man. Zuko ruins a lot of things in this fic, but if all goes according to plan, then he'll also atone for a lot, as well.

**uffda1nat:** I'm glad the chapters brightened your weekend (so long ago). As you can see, Zuko clinging to his plans has indeed raised some hell, but his stubbornness is only going to dig him deeper into things he can't escape. Thanks for such praise on the writing. I actually do get in moods where I agonize over word choice because one little adjective or article isn't doing exactly what I want it to. It's the balance between what Katara and Zuko are to each other and what they could be that gives me the most trouble. Sometimes I just want to rush forward with it, and sometimes I'm worried I'm beating a dead horse with the tension. There's a lot of back and forth in this story, and I hope that doesn't become boring.

**KK:** There's plenty of angst to come. As their emotions develop, things will just get worse… you know, until they get better.

**KatsPaws1294:** Sorry that I did make you wait for the update. We can't all be as on top of our fic as you are ;) You update very quickly. Real life just keeps getting busier and busier. Glad you liked the last two chapters, though, and the story in general.

**anberzen:** Sorry for the wait. I'm glad you've managed to stick with it since April, at any rate. The closer the end of the year approaches, the less accomplished I feel. I had planned to get this entire thing done within, like, 6 months. So much for that. I guess I can shoot for trying to wrap it up within the year.

**beastlySmalless:** I think cute/unsure Zutara moments are going to be pretty integral to this story. I can't think of anything I've got planned that just goes off without a hitch between them. You should have no fear whatsoever about their relationship developing instantaneously…. I might throw things into every chapter to satisfy the Zutaraness, but it's going to take a while to really make things work. This chapter (and I think this might be the biggest problem I had with it) did spend a lot of time in their heads, so I hope there was enough interaction to make you happy with it. (Really, though, I'm just glad neither my Katara nor Zuko irritate you.)

I'm also going to try to respond to all reviewers like this. I noticed recently that when I review, the writer PMs me back a thanks, but I think this will save time, and you all get to see the teasers I respond with.

**kaylamarie2012:** I replaced the Next Chapter button when I uploaded this chapter, but it seems to missing again now. I'll see what I can do about getting that fixed with greater punctuality. And, hahaha, I'm someone's first. Sweet. I hope your introduction to Zutara was met with great success and that you've found many more wonderful fics while you waited for this update.

**didi715:** Sadly, I'm not likely to ever cut Zuko some slack. He's my favorite character, and instead of showing my favorites an easy time of it, I really drag them through the wringer. He's going to have to work for everything that he gets, but that's what makes him strong.

**Senbo-sama:** My beta pointed out to me, in the one chapter he reviewed, that they've progressed to a point where they should be able to admit their feelings to themselves, at least, by this point, so I've tried to reveal some of that in this chapter. I guess the next step is getting them to admit it to each other… however, some things have to happen in between. I _have_ actually pre-written their first kiss, so I guess that gives you something to look forward to.

**Densharr:** Glad to see you've joined the story. I might have mentioned (or told someone in PM) that the Dragon of the West will be making an appearance (if all goes according to plan). So, yeah, I guess we'll see how I do with that part. Badass Iroh will be fun to write. As for Ursa… I can't say much except that you are very observant, mostly because your comments about the Dragon of the West are related to you question about Ursa. I'll let you think over that for a while. And (heh) I'm toying with the idea of a drunk Zuko… we'll see.

**xLittleRobinx:** Thanks for the compliments. I'm sorry you had to wait so long to read more.

**ArrayePL:** Thanks for reading. I'm glad the awkward interaction came off like I wanted. Sometimes I'm afraid it's just going to be awkward and nothing else.

**Nene428:** I won't go into what I think about the movie; this review-response section is long enough. But, thanks for thinking I've maintained some character integrity. I think with any Zutara story, Katara and Zuko have to change to some extent just to end up together, but I hope to at least do it subtly.

**byrcca:** Joke's on you! I let people review anonymously. It's too late now, though—you're one of us. LOL. I am touched, though, that my fic prompted you to sign up, and I hope you've found a lot of other fics worth commenting on. Several people have commented that they really liked the dream chapter and wished I'd spent more time on it or would write something else for it later on. I've been giving it some thought, and (while I obviously can't devote much to it while I'm entrenched in this one) I may go back and revisit it. The problem with the perfect world, though, is the lack of conflict. I'll have to put my plotting pimp hat on.

I can't tell you how much trouble I had with deciding how to lay out that chapter—adding cuts to Katara in between was probably the fifth path I tried. Your comments show that you really picked up on what I wanted to express about Katara and the situation, so that makes me happy. I'm not going to pretend that Katara is fully ready to put aside her preconceptions about Zuko and the Fire Nation—sometimes, he'll prove her wrong, but sometimes he'll reinforce her gut reaction. Zuko also has a lot preconceptions about himself that he'll have to learn to put aside. But, now that Iroh and the spirit world have had their say, Katara and Zuko will have to sort things out for themselves. The next chapters are going to be the opposite of 9—they'll have to completely deal with each other on a conscious level. I'm glad you liked that line in 10—it's one of my favorites.

As for which element is stronger, I absolutely don't think that water is weak by any means… but in this story, it doesn't matter what _I_ think. In the Zuko drabbles, he comments that water is strong and that it changes everything it touches. In his mind, it's just as powerful an element. For Katara, though, since the bending chapter was from her point of view, I think that fire has been an unexplored element. She's always been running from or defending against Firebending (aside from Aang's brief training, which did not end well), but she's probably never really had the chance to see it for what it is. So I wanted to give her that moment to explore some ideas about it—it's an exotic element to her, much different from what she's accustomed to bending, so I think it's reasonable that she'd be a little in awe of it if given the chance to think about it.

And if all you found in the first chapters were a _couple _of typos, then you're not scrutinizing enough (there are complete handfuls)… much like I did not scrutinize when I put them up. No matter how many times I read it, I never catch everything… and then FF just adds some for kicks when I upload it. It keeps me up at night. At some point, I'll go back and fix everything.

**Arlya:** We're quite animated about the fail, I see. You're really going to get good and frustrated down the line, then.

**hg-always:** I'm glad you liked the dialog. There were moments when I couldn't decide if it was funny or just really lame. I feel like I don't do humor well, but then, I also feel like I don't do combat or drama well… I'm not sure I have a strong point. Anyway, as for whether the whole crew saw them—yes, I assume that anyone on the deck who wasn't too distracted by their own thing did see Zuko and Katara dance and almost kiss. But, in my mind, that's not extremely important because the crew has probably been noticing a lot of things going on between Zuko and Katara—he hasn't exactly been treating her like a prisoner, lately. I think it becomes one of those "everyone knows but her" kind of things. What's important about that moment, I think, is that Zuko didn't _care_ that anyone saw them, he was too caught up in the moment.

**sulea:** Yes, this was the escape to the Earth Kingdom chapter, and next chapter, we'll be in the Earth Kingdom, proper. This is where the Zutara is really going to pick up because they'll have no choice over the next few chapters but to deal directly with each other. And, yeah, sorry… it was really cruel of me to leave the last chapter where I did and then fall behind on updating so badly.

**KrysOfSorrow:** I've irritated a lot of people with the failure to kiss thing, huh. Lol. It's not that I don't want them to kiss or that I'm intentionally trying to jerk you around. I just don't want things to happen too quickly, but I also don't want to completely ignore the romance part of this. Little Zutara nuggets…

**Marin the Sailor: **Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**Chibinelly:** Thanks for commenting on both chapters. I started giving the chapters those names because I was lazy and didn't want to come up with more than one word to describe it… but then it just seemed uniform to keep going with the same style. Shirtless Zuko is, indeed, hot. ;)

**itsabell-chan:** Katara intends to be annoyingly resistant to all this Zutara stuff. Zuko has some proving to do. I'm glad you gave the captured fic a chance.

**bandgeek4life4281:** I also cannot wait to see what I do with the rest of the story. I actually get pretty nervous when I finally commit a chapter in a specific direction (no going back now!), and this chapter, in particular, sets us on a direct path I think I'll have trouble getting off of if things go astray. So cross your fingers. Thanks for reading.

**EscapeTheFate56: **Thanks for reading and reviewing! Glad you've enjoyed.

**cherryblossom1031:** Wow, you're reading the story parallel to the show? I hope you enjoyed the show (you've probably already finished it by the time I updated), and I hope you turned out to be a Zutarian. Even if you managed to become a Kataanger, I hope you check back in with the story, here.

**LW:** Thanks for all the compliments (*feels the pressure*). I'm going to say this for the millionth time—I really hope I can maintain a good balance in the relationship. You guys feel free to tell me if I'm skewing.

**Alewellyin:** Thanks for reading! Thanks for the review!

**smiles13:** Thanks. Someone down earlier gave me the education in the lemon, but now I need someone to explain the baseball metaphor again (lol). It's been a long time since I used it. I guess this is as decent a place as any to subtly ask what you guys think about having a lemon in this story. In some ways, knowing where I'm going with it, it would seem wrong to not have it… but also, I know people don't always like lemons in their ATLA fic… It's funny that you mention thinking I sound sure of myself when I write. Someone recently told me writing was "confident," but mostly, I feel like I'm agonizing and fretting over every letter—I'm glad that neuroticism doesn't come through in the text. Glad you liked the "steam."

**fotinaki:** fast as possible was, apparently, years and years. Sorry for the wait. Glad you like the relationship.

**iShoutacake:** your SN still makes me laugh. I don't even know why. Thanks for sticking with the story!

**LuvinAniManga:** Glad you like it. I like the word fantabulous. I'm happy that you're satisfied with the pacing. Pacing is hard sometimes because I already know what's going to happen several chapters ahead and I'm all excited about that, so I worry sometimes about being boring with the chapter I'm actually in.

**horseandbooklover:** Thanks for reading and reviewing. I'm glad you like the story.

**Deathstroke'sDaughter:** Thanks for reading and reviewing. I'm still writing, just maybe not as quickly sometimes as we (me included) would all like.

**TheMysticScorpio:** "…hesitant yet tempting desire." I think you've nailed how I want their relationship to progress. Thanks for the review.

**Eternally Inquisitive:** Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**tealeaf8:** I'm glad that nothing I've had the characters think or do so far has pulled you out of the story and given you pause. Believe me, there's plenty of that in the drafting stage. I'm glad that you like the detail. I really do try to paint a picture when I'm writing—it's more that there actually is a scene playing out in my head when I think about it, and I try to let you see that too. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. I'm glad it worked for you here.

**Hitenisababe:** You know, I went back after you said that and watched Anastasia (one of my favorite animated movies, btw), and you're right. There are similarities. "… You should wear it… I am wearing it…" That was funny. And that is kind of how I picture Zuko and Katara getting caught up in each other right then.

**Akiiya Uchiha:** I'll keep trying to present a clear picture of what's going on. It's hard to self edit and keep everything straight sometimes.

**tinmiss1939:** Thanks for the great review! I like the description of Katara and Zuko's relationship as "fits and bursts" because I think it leans even more in that direction in the next several chapters. There are these moments of suddenly rushing toward it only to have a problem or a reminder come between them. Everything is kind of explosive.

**Nowh3r32go:** Thanks for complimenting the writing and the story. I hope you continue to enjoy it!

**Dodger-The: **Favorite Zutara? I'm honored. It's really hard to predict when I'm going to have the time or inspiration to beat out the next chapter. But, I can promise that I'll never actually stop writing it. It will be finished. I've already written parts of the epilogue… how can waste that?

**Speedykitten1643:** Thanks for the praise. Katara and Zuko are growing closer, yes. I really to keep letting them get closer and closer. Rather than just stick them together based on attraction, I'm really aiming for a deeper connection, based on knowing each other and having overcome a lot of obstacles together.

**Cassie:** Thanks for the read and review!

**Lulu:** Glad you like it. Hope the rest turns out to your liking.

**Mitsunei Ray:** We're always getting closer and closer to the realizations, but realizing and being able to do anything about it are two different things.

**lucawindermover:** Thanks for reviewing so many chapters! I'm glad you thought the premise was believable. There are several places in the story where I'm going to be fighting similar plausibility issues, so I hope I do a decent job. I'm glad there are so many things that you like about the story so far. A note on the poetry… I was hesitant about it, and there was a point where I thought about having Katara mention it to him down the road and have him be all "What? I don't write poetry…" but I finally decided it was a nice little hidden character attribute to give Zuko (poetry when he seems to have a lot of trouble expressing his feelings).

**Emily:** I hope you do check back and find this chapter. And I hope there are more chapters, soon, for you to find.

**Pat:** Thanks for the praise. Here's hoping I don't leave everyone hanging from the next cliff for quite so long.

**L.O:** Fine! Here! Lol. I do same that in my profile that you have to berate me to post sometimes.

**Jdeppgirl4:** I'm impressed that you stayed up until 3 to read the story. Thanks for the praise! I'm glad you like the characterizations. I often wonder myself how long I plan to make this. At first, it was just going to be a simple, flippant, gratuitous Zutara story, but my beta encouraged me to add plot… and once I start plotting, there's no point in pretending it's going to be small. There's still a lot that I have planned to happen. I would say that this time on the ship has been the first of 4 prominent arcs.

Also thanks to everyone else who started reading, who added this story their favorites, and who put it on alert. I'm happy to say that the story is still getting love-it's up to 150+ faves and 230 alerts.


	14. Negotiation

Chapter 14 – Negotiation

KATARA

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"Momma!"

The child might as well have shrieked my name; my gaze jerked toward the sound. The little girl rushed past me, a mud-caked slipper in each hand, and her bare feet kicked up dirty water, eliciting protests from several older patrons of the noodle house. She paid them no mind but jumped, instead, into the waiting arms of her mother. I watched the pair over my shoulder. The mother picked at the child's grubby, orange sleeves and fretted over the sodden hem of the green robe she wore over her shift—not a stitch of red, gold, or black. And yet, the word had sounded so familiar... stupid nightmares.

Thinking about princes right before bed was like eating a triple-deck, eel-otter sandwich with hot, radish sauce. It brought on a crazy night filled with stomach-clenching dreams—a turtle duck pond that _someone_ had apparently described in far too much detail and a gaggle of small, top-knotted children. I shivered in my damp robe and tried to blame my reaction on the weather.

Everything in Kaicho was soaked. The week-long downpour had turned the streets into a soupy mess of mud, old produce, and stolen shoes. Creeping through cracks in shingles and tiles or clinging to the bottoms of boots, the water quietly infiltrated every building—not that I was welcomed in many buildings. I had fled Zuko with only the clothes on my back, which left little possibility of shopping, let alone renting a room or eating wherever I liked.

"Stop mooning like a baboon calf, girl, and get those dishes to the kitchen!"

I nodded obediently to Yima Qui and picked my way across the slippery floor, clutching a stack of empty wooden bowls against one hip and balancing a tea tray on the other.

I couldn't decide if the rain meant luck or disaster. It was lucky for me that Yima Qui's grandson had taken sick (sick of rain and mud and crabby customers, I suspected) the day before I had trudged into Kaicho. She had been short of help and pulling her gray hair out in tufts by the time I had come to her noodle house, covered in scratches and muddied to the knees from my two-day trek through the forest. I was very fortunate that she had taken no interest in the hair beads I had begged to trade for a bowl of broth and—after naming me 'stocky and sturdy' and serviceable for labor—had handed me an apron, instead.

The downside was that Yima Qui was habitually hostile, her voice had only one tone and one volume, and her noodles were undercooked and screaming with too much ginger. Still, I had been given a rice cake for breakfast, I had been assigned a pallet near the stove, and I had found a roof under which I could spend the day hiding from the endless torrent—not a terrible set of circumstances, given my position. Of course, if not for the rain, I wouldn't have needed those things so badly, and I even could have dealt with the weather if I had felt it was safe to bend. However, I didn't want to take the chance that rumors about a Waterbender in Kaicho might reach Zuko.

I found myself much farther north than I had expected—from what I had been told, it was only a week to the Bahjon Strait by ostrich horse, a little over two if I cut across the country on foot—and I wasn't dressed for this cold, stormy season. Maybe it had been the constant burning in its belly or my suffocating, windowless quarters, but the ship had seemed much warmer. Even on the deck, though, I had not been especially cold. Grudgingly, I attributed the anomaly to other things... well, people... okay, a person... _whatever_. I shook my head to scatter the thought. I was not going to allow myself to romanticize the idea that I had been warmed just by Zuko's presence.

"Girl!" Yima Qui yelled over the din of the kitchen and then, pointed to the back door. "We need more water."

"Then, stick a pitcher out the window!" I argued. "I'm not going out in that."

"You'll be out in that a lot longer if you don't get yourself to the fountain, _now_." She pointed her bony finger at the door again, and I fumed, losing my attitude only briefly when I stomped passed her and she handed me an umbrella.

I grumbled all the way to the back of the kitchen, muttering under my breath as I threw the door wide and popped open the umbrella. "Crusty old crone."

"What was that?"

"This is just like home," I quickly called over the pounding of the rain, "if I were a slave," I mumbled again, slamming the door behind me.

I couldn't hear anything but the noisy assault of raindrops on the lacquered paper stretched tightly over the umbrella's bamboo ribs. Next to the door sat two buckets, full to the brim with perfectly fine rainwater. I flared my nostrils as I tipped one and then the other over with my foot and sadly watched the water stream down into the street to join the rest of the flood. What did the crazy dovebat think was in the fountain—_sake_? The burning temptation to bend clean water from the surrounding rain quickly fizzled; I could practically feel Yima Qui's beady eyes watching me through the slit in the curtains to ensure I was following orders. I took a pole from the wall and hooked the bucket handles over notches at each end. Even as I lifted it onto my shoulder, I dreaded how heavy it would be on the way back.

Kaicho was a small village, set several miles inland. It enjoyed protection from the rougher coastal weather, sheltered by the great hill into which it had been built. They called it Mount Laeoshin, but it was really just an enormous collection of dirt and rocks that local legend said the spirits had shoved up out of the shoreline to create the nearby bay. The small, common square was the focal point of the village, a paved stretch of cobblestones that lay before a great temple Earthbenders had carved into the side of Mount Laeoshin centuries ago. Houses and shops clustered around the square, butting right up to the temple on both sides. The square was blessedly free of the mud that plagued the rest of the Kaicho, and I thanked La as I crossed the square to reach the center fountain.

The buckets that I had carried from Yima Qui's were already half full again, and I gratefully set them down on the ledge that surrounded the fountain. The rain had let up slightly, but I suspected it was a rouse. Every time the downpour eased, the townsfolk would venture into the streets to check, and then, the mischievous sky would crack open with another clap of thunder and drench everything anew. How long could one storm last? I was eager to move on, but I didn't dare set off into the wilderness again in the rain. I could only keep up my bending for so long at one time, even if there was no one around to see it, and two days of freezing in wet clothes, with nothing to eat and nothing dry to sleep on had convinced me to wait out the weather in a civilized place. But as soon as the rain dried up, I would be on my way again—closer to Aang and Sokka and farther from Zuko.

The square remained empty; the villagers had grown wise to the weather's tricks and thought it prudent to stay indoors for now. I laid aside my umbrella, pushed my soggy sleeves up to my elbows, and dipped each bucket into the fountain to fill it the rest of the way to the top. I scooted the buckets apart and hooked their handles back over the pole, and then, I struggled to lift it onto my shoulders so a bucket hung down on each side. No wonder Yima Qui had been looking for someone 'stocky and sturdy.'

"She'll probably want me to pull a wagon through the mud next," I huffed, balancing the pole as I took a few tentative steps. "If the rain doesn't let up soon, I'll be begging Zuko to take me back."

"Who says I'll have you?"

I sucked in a sharp breath and whirled around. The buckets crashed to the stones, water running back toward the fountain, as I freed my arms to defend myself. The square was still empty. The impenetrable cover of clouds gave all of Kaicho a gray sheen. It blocked out the light and deepened the shadows between the houses and in the alcoves of the temple. Had I imagined his voice? "Who's there?"

"What's wrong, Katara?" The temple façade, the cobblestone square, and the ring of whitewashed houses created an amphitheater effect, and Zuko's voice echoed. Even though the spattering rain muted some of the reverberation, I couldn't tell where he was. "Still too tired from trying to kill me to bend?"

The words came from behind me this time, and I whipped around again to scan the rooftops and peer into the dark alleys. "I didn't mean to hit you in the head," I apologized; although, there was more annoyance in my tone than regret. If I could keep Zuko talking, maybe I could figure out where he was hiding. "How did you find me?" I was sure the rain would have washed away any clues.

"The fish told me," he barked. "I'm not a fool—Kaicho is the only village within 20 miles. Where else would you have gone?"

Had his voice come from the temple or the roof of the house, one lane over? "I'm _going_ to my brother and Aang." Something fell from the upper levels of the temple—a few small rocks and clods of muddy clay—but I couldn't tell whether Zuko had knocked them loose or the rain had washed them down.

"I'd be happy to help you find them," he crooned from the shadows, seeming to be in a different part of the square now.

"That's what worries me." I waited for his quipped return, but the square was silent. I shifted my feet, preparing my stance. If Zuko as finished playing games, then it wouldn't be long before the square became a battlefield. As I strained to discern movement in the shaded doorways of the temple, hot breath cut through the chill of the rain to warm my neck.

"It should."

Instinctively reaching for the largest source of water, I ducked and pivoted, throwing my arms forward. The fountain water surged over its stone rim like a tidal wave, crashing onto the cobblestones, but when I pulled it back to confirm my victory, Zuko was gone. Angry, I turned back toward the temple side of the square in time to see him take up his Firebending stance, but I wasn't going to give him the opportunity to bend. I shoved the water at him, again, but this time, he rolled, meeting my wave at its base where it was weakest. He broke through the squall, landing on his feet and ran back into the nearest darkened lane. I abandoned my wave as it washed over the face of the temple, and ran after Zuko. I finally caught up to him in a long lane that ended in a dead end.

The rain picked up again, pounding down around us and, as I watched Zuko turn and square up at the other end of the street, clenching and unclenching his fists, I felt a feral smile split my features. I had the utter advantage, here, with my element pouring from the sky, filling every crevice of the village and waiting for my command. He should have turned around, he should have conceded defeat and gone back to his ship, empty handed but alive, and yet, the stubborn Prince held his ground, determination flaring in his eyes. He was obviously suicidal.

"I guess this is where it ends," I said, flexing my fingers and gripping the water all around me, but I held my attack. I didn't _want_ to hurt Zuko; I wanted him to leave. I wanted him out of my sight and out of my head. But Zuko's deliberate nod—a challenge or, perhaps, just an acknowledgment—told me he would rather die than let me go. No surprise.

The swift movement of my arms was his only warning, but as I clapped my hands together in front of me and water from the adjoining alleys rushed toward him from both sides, Zuko dropped to a crouch and pivoted, drawing a protective circle of flame. My river hissed and writhed against his fire, and a blanket of steam rose to conceal him from view. He burst from that white curtain, leaping to the wall of a side building to avoid a water whip that flicked up a splash of mud where it struck the empty space. Zuko rebounded from the wall, rolling through the mud as he hit the ground, and sent a stream of fireballs to counter the rain I threw sideways at him.

Zuko cried out as the raindrops, like tiny knives, bit into his skin. I prepared to gather more of it to drive him back when another cry, outside our exclusive universe, broke through my concentration. More voices, panicked screams, and desperate shouting followed. Zuko was still kneeling, his arm lifted over his face to shield it from the rain, and I turned, running toward the sounds of chaos. Behind me, I heard a curse and the sound of boots pursuing me through the sucking street.

I skidded to a stop when I reached the village square. The constant rain had saturated the soil past cohesion and Mount Laeoshin was coming apart. The inside of the temple had collapsed, and tons of oozing mud flowed out of the upper stonework and down the sloped surface on either side, threatening to crush homes, stores, and the people who had gathered, hopelessly trying to abate the catastrophe. A line of what had to be every Earthbender in the village stood along the base of the mountain. Some held the mud back, trying to push it up the mountain, but with more and more streaking down from the summit, there was no place for it all to go but down. Other benders yanked the flat stones from the square and threw them into the sludge to provide structural support. But everywhere they reinforced the foundation, the mud found a new route, sliding over, under, or between the stones, weighing down the benders.

Without thinking, I rushed forward and seized control of the water soaking the closest section of the mountain. I shifted it away from the soil so that the other benders could pack it more tightly against itself. For every patch of earth I managed to dry, though, a gallon of water was dumped someplace else, and the rain just kept coming. A section of the temple—the only thing keeping the mud at bay, suddenly gave way, and an avalanche of mud tumbled down toward the overtaxed Earthbenders. I threw my bending at it, taking both water and dirt under my control and held it away from them. My bending was weakening, though, and much less effective against mud than pure water. Rumbling overhead instantly drew my gaze upward, and I flinched as I saw a brown and brackish flow rushing down at me. Hunching my shoulders, I continued to bend the mud slide I was already holding; the Earth Benders had not reached safety yet, and I could only hope I would be able to give them enough time before I was entombed by the slime.

Instead of the wet, cold weight I was braced to expect, I felt a rush of heat against my cheeks. Fire glowed overhead and a surprisingly welcome, if far too brief, aridness surrounded me. The mud that threatened to encase me baked into a wall, sloping upward and ending in an overhang that diverted the flow into two streams on either side of me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Zuko, his flames still cooking the mud higher up and his expression utterly incensed.

"Zuko!" I screamed over the rain and the mud and the shouting. "Your fire! You can help us save this village!" Zuko looked at the Earthbenders, still fighting with their very lives to save their homes and families, and then he looked at me, tilting his head in stark assessment.

"If I help them," he bartered, "will you come back with me? No more games, no more fighting?" The rain had soaked his clothes, plastered his hair to his cheeks and forehead, but his eyes shone with authority. "The Earthbenders don't have much time, Katara. Choose quickly."

"Yes," I cried out desperately. Why did he think I even had a _choice_. If he didn't help them, these people would die; at the very best, their village would be destroyed. I didn't know why he was wasting time with me. I was growing more exhausted by the minute, and I wouldn't be able to hold the slide I was pushing back for much longer. I would help them until I had no strength left, but even if we did save any of their homes, I would be too weak to fight. Zuko could just carry me out of Kaicho if he wanted to. "You have my word."

"Swear on your mother's betrothal necklace," he commanded.

"My mother's—" I didn't have time for questions. "Fine. I swear on my mother's necklace. Please, Zuko! Hurry!"

With my promise in his ears, Zuko sprinted toward the collapsing face, bullying his way in front of the benders, and threw his flames into the writhing muck. Wherever his fire touched, water hissed and popped under the heat. As he baked one section, I partially parched the next. The Earthbenders who weren't holding back the mud were quick to catch onto the idea, packing the soil and preparing it to receive Zuko's scorching hand. The mountainside became his furnace and the rivers of sludge slowed, seared into solidity like bricks in a massive oven. The more mud that flowed toward his walls, the higher Zuko made them, burning them upward until the mud stopped, contained by the slick, glistening shell of Zuko's branding. As the danger passed, I watched Zuko fall to one knee, his shoulders heaving with the breathlessness of his labors. The crowd erupted into cheers and slogged through the mire to hug one another.

The cheering abruptly died out as Zuko rose and turned to face the people of Kaicho. He stood straight, proud even under the layers of mud. His hair was still plastered to his skin, but his scar peeked through the strands, wet and slick against his unmarred skin and inflamed from his work, as if it recalled the pain of burning. Zuko's glittering gaze shifted back and forth through his mop of sodden bangs, and he walked cautiously through the crowd. While they were desperately working together, there had been no time to ponder who the new benders were that had come to their aide, no time to question the new elements that were being manipulated. Now, however, the villagers stepped back, scurrying out of Zuko's reach, as if he might turn fire on them now. Several benders, drained and wrecked in their exhaustion, nevertheless twitched their fingers. No one dared utter a _thank you_.

When Zuko reached me, his hand immediately latched onto my wrist—his promised reward for this service—and I did not try to pull away. Save for some of Aang's abilities, I had never seen such a powerful display of bending. I would never really know why he had saved these people—for the tactical advantage in being able to hold me to our bargain or for some hidden altruism that even Zuko himself could not recognize—but he had done as I had begged, and so I would fulfill my part.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that Kaicho was not going to embrace Zuko, even after his help, so I wasn't surprised when he started heading away from the square. Great—now we would spend two more days tromping through the rain before we reached the coast, and I would end up right back on his ship, anyway. I followed along silently as he gave my wrist a gentle tug and led me onto the main road out of the village. Zuko was apparently not lured by the prospect of plowing through a swamp of weeds and brush. I cast one last glance over my shoulder at Kaicho, where I knew a hundred pairs of green eyes were probably watching Zuko leave, and I could imagine all of them glaring hatred at his back.

"Are you okay?" I don't know why I asked it. He looked so very tired, so worn by his bending, but he never held such weaknesses in his eyes. Always, they were strong and fearless, bold and brilliant. Now, the glow in them had dulled, masked by a melancholy that was completely apart from Zuko's signature broodiness.

He jolted to a stop and turned on me. "I did what you asked me to do. Are you going to go back on your word, now?"

In the pause before my answer, Zuko narrowed his eyes and dug his fingers into my skin. "No," I finally said in a petulant tone, shaking my arm to try to loosen his hold. "I'm not going to break my word... but not because I'm afraid of you."

"Then, why not?"

I had to think about that. Surely, I wasn't going to potentially jeopardize Aang's safety and the fate of the world because I had sworn on my mother's necklace... Mom would understand. My reason made no sense, but I still said the only thing I could think of.

"Because someday, you'll need to be able to trust me."

.

.~***~.

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There are a few chapters that I partially wrote months ago and had to hold in reserve until it was time to finish and post them. This was one of those chapters, so I was really excited to be able to finally add it to the story. I hope it was worth the read.

Reviews…

**uffda1nat:** Thanks for the praise! I do try to represent both Katara and Zuko with equal dedication… I have to admit that I sometimes find it more difficult to stay in character with Katara at this point. I think later on, when more of Zuko's emotions come into play, that assessment will flip-flop. The last chapter was hard to get out. I had basically written the entire thing, with Zuko succeeding in locking Katara in her cabin, but that led to too much time for whining and self pity. That also gave Zuko time to brood in his cabin. The whole thing felt very weak, so I rewrote it. I did save out some of Zuko's brooding for later, though.

**beastlySmalless:** (Did you do the happy dance?) I hope the mudslide was not predictable (or just really, really random). I feel like some events might seem a little out of the blue for a while, but it's all going to come back into play eventually. I like responding to reviewers; I want people to know that I read the reviews and I truly appreciate the comments and encouragement. I do feel bad about the previous reviews, prior to deciding to respond to everyone. I feel like I should go back and make sure I've highlighted everyone who's ever commented (that's cut into my story-writing time, though).

**AnnaAza: **Zuko has found Katara. I didn't make it very hard, and I worry that I jumped the gun a bit with it… but I hate writing the boring parts and I couldn't bear to write another scene that was just travel. I hope that a lot of development takes place in Zuko and Katara's lives and thoughts while they're together this time.

**Aipom4:** I answered you in PM, since it was a question rather than a comment. But for anyone else who missed it—Zuko's hair was in its shaved-ponytail style at the beginning of the fic, but it's now shaggy.

**MysNiWol:** Thanks for the review. I'm glad that I got to update a lot faster than last time. Most of that was because I had some of this already written, and some was because it wasn't all that long. But at least I'm back on some kind of reasonable schedule.

**lucawindmover:** It's funny the things you like about your story and the things that other people like. I hadn't envisioned the last chapter going the way it had at first. That struggle on the stairs and in the corridor didn't make the first draft, and I was reluctant to put it into the final. There was something about it that I thought felt cartoony… I'm not sure what I mean by that, and I'm not sure it's necessarily a bad thing, considering ATLA is a cartoon, but it just goes to show… Thanks for being a diehard reader.

**smiles13:** Katara hasn't learned to bloodbend in this fic, yet, and I should point out that she never trained with Pakku. But she isn't weak (in my head, I'm substituting Iroh's training and sparring with Zuko for all the progress she made in her S1 bending). I think, more than anything, I wanted her escape to show that she has been, up until this point, physically capable of leaving Zuko, and yet emotionally reluctant. Now, she has a new reason for staying with him. We'll see how long that lasts.

**anberzen:** Thanks for reading. Glad I could make the wait time less this time around.

**jdeppgirl4:** Nothing ever happens in my fic! I'm thinking… thinking of making something happen in the next chapter, but I'm not quite sure we're ready for it. I might need a chapter in between, but I despise just writing filler for the sake of pacing. I might have to rearrange a few events. A few chapters back, all the good stuff seemed like it was so far off, but it's all getting closer and closer now. *crosses fingers*

**Queen of Hell and Muffins:** Thanks for the love!

**silvercell:** Yeah, I really rake them over the coals, that's for sure. This is trek through the Earth Kingdom is going to be Zuko's "working vacation."

**JD:** Thanks!

**KK:** You didn't expect Katara to leave? I guess there are a lot of capture fics where she doesn't. They're just together from the outset and work out all their differences without that pesky escape. I have a couple of additional escapes planned… not all of them Katara's. ;)

**Katie-Liz94:** Thanks for reading the whole thing! Hope you enjoy the rest of it.

**bebe2pink:** It's quite a read, even at 13 chapters, for one night. I'm glad it held your attention for so long. And I'm glad you like the characters. I often worry I'm not doing them justice.

**trish:** Good luck at uni! Read during study breaks!

**Emily:** Yay, you did come back! Zuko might be starting to see the light, but he does have a bit of tunnel vision. I think someone might have to hit him over the head with a lamp. I don't want to do the whole "I want to be good, so I'll join the Avatar" thing. Not that I didn't like it, but I don't want to reinvent the wheel, so to speak. I do hope you like the direction I take, though.

**pinkpaws-marauder:** I _do_ need a fantastic job. Lol. (I know what you meant, but the typo just really resounded with me because I've been peddling my resume around and I thought I'd remind the universe that yes, I need a fantastic job.) Thanks for the compliment; I'm glad you like the story!

**OhSnapItsZee:** At chapter 14, I feel like we're probably at a point in the story where I won't feel like I'm "jumping into it" if I let a few more emotions out of the bag. During all this running around, the captor-prisoner dynamic is going to decidedly become something else.

**iShoutacake:** It took a while to work out the emotions. I think in my initial draft, Katara wasn't nearly ticked off enough. I need me some ticked off Katara. Girl power, and all that. In this chapter, even, I didn't want Zuko to subdue her. I wanted her to go with him for other reason. It shows that they're willing to compromise for each other… even if technically, it's still for themselves, at this point. But it shows growth and possibility.


	15. Information

Chapter Fifteen – Information

ZUKO

* * *

The sloshing behind me abruptly stopped, and my own dogged steps slowed.

"You, liar!"

A defeated posture kept the rain out of my eyes but gave the drops license to course straight down my neck and under the collar of my robe. I don't know why it was so unnerving; all it did was seep in with the rest of the water soaking every layer of clothing I wore. I hunched my shoulders and drew on the comfort of my inner fire. With a deliberate breath, I let it spread through my torso, steaming the swampy under layers of cloth. I was so sick of this accursed water; I didn't want yet another of Katara's pointless delays to prolong my upright drowning. I clenched my fists and turned.

Katara had planted herself in the middle of the road, looking impressively defiant even as her feet continued to sink into the mud. Her loopies—what a ridiculous name for something—were plastered against her forehead and dripping into her eyes. She pushed them back with the rest of the hair she had strangled into a haphazard braid earlier in the day. As she glared at me, she jutted a finger roughly in the direction of the coast. My gaze followed that invisible line into the foliage, and I shook my head.

"I never said we were going to the ship."

She dragged her feet through the mud, arms flailing out from her sides for balance—she looked like a bull goose during mating season. When she reached me, her pointed finger went straight for my chest. Even cushioned by the gallons of water weighing down my robes, the little digit dug painfully into my breast bone.

"You said I had to come _back_ with you."

"_Back_ is a relative word." I brushed her hand away and turned down the road again, but I nearly lost my balance when she gave my sleeve a vicious jerk. "Let go!" I shook out of her grip and indignantly tugged my robe straight across my shoulders. "I didn't know how long it would take me to find you," I gruffly explained, "so I sent Uncle ahead. We'll have to walk to catch up with him."

"Walk, all the way to the Bahjon Strait?"

"What were you planning to do on your own? You think because you're with me, now, I should find you a palanquin? Besides, I never said we were going there, either."

Katara dropped her arm to her side and blinked a few times. "Then, where are we going?"

"It shouldn't make any difference to you—you swore," I reminded her. "It's not my fault you didn't listen to the conditions." I turned around again, and this time, she let me. As I started walking, I listened for the sounds of her squishing footsteps. I cringed when she called my name.

"What do you want, now, Katara?"

She grunted and huffed as she struggled to keep up with me. "When you made me swear, earlier, why did you call it my mother's _betrothal _necklace?"

"Don't be stupid."

"I'm not! I don't remember her ever calling it that. Gran Gran never called it that."

I stopped again.

It was a betrothal necklace. I knew it was a betrothal necklace. I hadn't needed Hakoda to give me the lecture; Katara had told me the story a million times—about how the special stones from the North symbolized the union of Tui and La, of how the young man was supposed to carve it for his betrothed when she turned sixteen. She had been like a mill paddle wheel about it the last year, going over it and over it so I would know what was expected of me. I had heard about how unusually thick ice drifts had prevented travel north the year Hakoda had proposed to Kya, how Kana had given him the stone she had brought south with her years earlier, and how he had carved the worn motif anew. Kya had told the story at banquets...

My stomach clenched and my limbs suddenly felt leaden. Kya had told that story in a world where the Northern and Southern tribes had traded regularly, where a hundred years of war hadn't broken the bonds of blood and history or shredded the cultural traditions of Katara's decimated, backwater people.

"Zuko?"

If I told Katara about my dream, she would think I was mad. I wiped the rain out of my eyes and turned to face her. "Well, that's what it is. They do it in the North, okay? Now, you know."

Even under all that rain, she bristled. "But how do you _know_?"

I opened my mouth and took another breath to speak, but then, I just stood there, gaping at her. No rational explanation would be plausible; no plausible explanation would be any better. "Because I'm a prince," I settled for. "All princes know... this stuff."

She crossed her arms and cocked her head to one side.

"Maybe not in the intellectual tundra of the South," I scathed in defense of the look she gave me, "but at least in the Fire Nation, they do. What if I had to go somewhere and officiate some traditional... thing after the war?"

"Since when does the Fire Nation care about other people's traditions?"

I always knew we had passed the tricky part of the conversation when Katara stopped prying for real information and started asking insulting, rhetorical questions. "You're right. I don't care." I took her by the arm and thrust her out in front of me. "So keep walking."

"I don't know where we're going, remember?" she bit back.

"Don't worry. I'll tell you when to turn."

She flashed me a contemptuous smirk as she stumbled ahead, but she obediently plodded on, leaving me and my festering pride to follow.

I had thought having Katara walk in front of me would be easier. I wouldn't need to strain my hearing to pick out the sound of her movements over the rain or constantly mind my pace to ensure she didn't fall too far behind. I would be able to watch where I was going. With Katara in full view, though, I managed to trip over nothing, twice.

Every hour or so, she would start bending, and it quickly became apparent that I couldn't resist watching her bend. She would wave her arms in her fluid way, and a dome would form around her. Thin rivulets of water would flow from her hair and clothes to streak down the outside of her dome. She would sigh and toss her dry braid over her shoulder, and for a while it would feel like she was somewhere far away from me. Eventually, though—and it was getting more frequent—she would tire and the dome would collapse, drenching her.

She had given up being dry a couple of miles back. Now, she hugged herself, tucking the back of her head into her robe as she shrugged her shoulders to her ears. As her steps lagged, I suddenly wondered when she had last eaten or slept. Farther ahead, sloped roofs broke the monotonous skyline of treetops and gray clouds.

"We can stop up there," I called to her. She glared at me over her shoulder, and I challenged in return, "Do you want to eat or not?"

Her look turned grateful, then, and she continued toward the village with seemingly renewed vigor.

The village had been built in the bend of a wide river, and as we crossed the well-tended bridge to reach the village entrance, I looked upstream to where a few docks stood empty, at least one rowboat sinking under the weight of collected rain. The banks were devoid of children playing or women washing, but that was to be expected in this unrelenting draught.

This village didn't seem much different from the one we had escaped earlier in the morning—the same precisely hewn, white-washed houses and green-tiled roofs, the same muddied streets and sporadic cobblestone intersections. I would have taken it for any other Earth Kingdom village—but for all the red.

Katara slowed when the first patrol of Fire Nation soldiers passed before us at the entrance, making their rounds, uncomplaining, through the downpour. I nudged her with my shoulder and settled my fingers on the small of her back, prodding her forward.

"This is an occupied village," I said, keeping my voice low. "They're just peacekeepers." I felt a tiny jerk in her body that I assumed was a snort. "Keep moving," I ordered, and she lifted her feet, falling into step beside me.

We didn't garner much notice as we picked our way toward the central square. I was dressed mostly in gray, my hair flattened against my face to obscure my scar and eyes, and Katara's robes were a dirty, saturated navy. There wasn't much need to hide, though. The rain seemed to depress everything, even the impulse to cause trouble, so the soldiers weren't overly interested in us. The townspeople seemed interested in nothing. They shuffled from shop to shop with the gaunt lethargy of a conquered people.

Despite our relative anonymity, Katara skulked. She hurriedly glanced back and forth between groups of soldiers, casting her gaze to the ground and stiffening whenever a red helmet turned in our direction. I felt her mirroring me, self-consciously drawing up close, like she could hide in my shadow. I shook my head, and she looked up.

"What?"

"If you really want their attention, go ahead, keep acting bizarre."

"Well," she automatically defended, "what if they decide to arrest me?"

"You forget who you're with. I think I'd have a say. You also forget," I pointed out, "that you're already a prisoner."

Katara immediately fumed at the reminder, and I steered her toward the first pavilion that looked like it might sell food just to get her off the street. As we stepped out of the rain, we both let out profound sighs. The pavilion was smoky, the exhaust from the stove at the back venturing to the edge of the roof and then recoiling from the rain to blow back on itself. My eyes watered as I approached the proprietor and asked for egg rolls and hot soup.

"No egg rolls," he said, apologetically. "Food is not as plentiful in Hanoki these days. Most of our crops are being exported to aide the war effort." He said the last with a bitter edge as he eyed the soldiers, and I was pretty sure it wasn't Ba Sing Se doing the taxing. "I have soup and several small rice cakes."

Katara was quick to take hers from the counter the moment it appeared while mine sat waiting as I dug my pouch out of my duffel bag and counted several coins into the man's palm. The proprietor thanked me, and I turned around to see where Katara had gone. She was a few steps away watching two small children voraciously choke down rice cakes. I looked down at her hands—all she held was the soup bowl.

"What did you do?" I demanded as I approached. "Did you just give your _food _away?"

She turned back to me, startled. "They were hungry."

I dragged my hand through my hair, clenching down on the roots. "The food I _just_ bought... s_pecifically_ for you?"

"They're children." She took a step back. I took a step forward. "It was just two little cakes. I still have the soup." The backs of her legs bumped into a bench, and she dropped down onto it. A little broth bounced over the lip of the bowl onto the floor.

"The food I bought with very nearly the _last_ of the money I _had_?"

"Yes! I did," she said. "Stop yelling."

"_I'm not yelling_." A guard glanced our way from across the street. I took a deep breath and lowered my voice to a grating note. "I'm lecturing."

"Then stop lecturing. I don't need you to tell me what to do."

"Apparently, you do." And, apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

Katara shot up from her seat, and I was forced to quickly shift backward to keep from knocking heads with her. She slammed her bowl down onto the nearest table, and only a swift twitch of her fingers settled the soup before it sloshed over the ceramic side. As she advanced, I raised my hands halfway into a defensive stance. If she started bending against me here, in front of the Fire Nation soldiers, she would definitely get us noticed. I would have to subdue her, then—for her own sake—if I could.

"I do not," she informed me, her eyes alternating between hard, little slits of contempt and full moons of shining outrage as she lit into me. "I don't need you to tell me what to do. I don't need you to feed me or buy me robes or give me silk. I don't need you to push me around or protect me from Admirals, and I certainly don't need you to tell me what I do or don't need!"

It was times like these I was starkly reminded that Katara loathed me. My inching retreat was cut short as I bumped into a support column, and she closed on me too fast for me to get out of her way. The urchins scattered from their benefactress.

"Don't pretend you know best! How can you _not_ want to feed them? You angry, insensitive—" She poked me in the chest again, her finger bouncing against the muscle to emphasize each complaint. "—spoiled—"

I grabbed her hand, curling her fingers to her palm, and clutched it to my robe to end her assault—the physical one, at least; the verbal one continued unabated.

"This is all your fault," she insisted, wildly waving her free arm to show me what _all_ encompassed.

"I've never even been to this village."

"And that's supposed to matter?"

My gaze widened. "Shouldn't it?"

"Well, it doesn't." She forced her hand flat beneath mine and pushed back a step so I got a full view of her disapproval. "You don't take responsibility for anything, do you?"

I snorted and shook my head, fighting the urge to crush her fingers. "I've done nothing but take responsibility—responsibility for dishonoring my father, responsibility for doing my part in this war," blood rushed to heat my limbs, and my grip tightened, "responsibility for you. All I do is take responsibility."

"You're holding a teenage girl hostage while you stalk a little boy—very noble. None of that is going to help these people. Look at them."

I rested my gaze firmly on the ground between us.

She stepped closer, dipping her head into my view. "Look at them, Zuko."

I lifted my head and swept the bedraggled groups of milling peasants. Their dull eyes, set in the hollows of hopelessness and malnutrition, barely moved as they shuffled along the paths from building to building. When they looked in our direction, their gazes seemed to slide away, deflected, perhaps, by my golden glare, fear of drawing notice, or just general disinterest. A grave sense of defeat pervaded the village, leeching vitality from its somber inhabitants in a deeper way than the ever-present clouds could have managed.

"They're not my people."

"If your father has his way, they'll all be your people, someday."

"I'm sorry for their plight, but what do you want me to do about it? We're at war."

"You could help them." Her voice suddenly held the same pleading quality it had back at the mudslide.

I shook my head. "They don't want my help." Never mind how I'd manage to feed an entire village.

Katara's expression softened. "Is that what this is about?"

I tried to turn my head so she couldn't read the emotion in my unscarred side, but she took another step and caught my jaw with her cold fingers, pulling my face back around.

"You've been hostile—well, _unusually_ hostile—all day." I gave up trying to look away, and her fingers fell from my face to rest on my collarbone. "It's because the Earthbenders in Kaichoe hurt your _feelings_?"

I frowned. "Is it that hard to imagine I have any?"

"No," she quickly said and then took a deep breath and raised her eyebrows. "I know you have feelings. It's just... I mean, I know when you're angry or offended and when you're about to erupt into a rage, but I never know if you..."

"If I what?" My anger began to shift, and I fidgeted, flexing my shoulders.

"If you care... about things, I guess." She casually shuffled her feet a few inches closer, resting almost between mine.

"Things?" The humidity crowded the smells of the day around me—the clay on Katara's robes from Kaichoe, the wood stove's smoke that had wound itself through her hair—and beneath them, her own earthy scent, warm and fresh, like a newly watered bed of moon flowers.

"Like towns or traditions or... people." The hand on my chest curled around a fold of fabric.

"People?" I confirmed. I was accustomed to Katara doing things absentmindedly when she talked—telling a story while she darned, tidying a room while she worked out an unrelated problem, subconsciously making half-bending motions when she griped at me—but I couldn't fathom how she could get so close without realizing what she was doing. Still, she pressed closer.

"Or a person. Family or... or friends."

"I care about Uncle," I admitted as her other hand slipped down the opposite side of my chest. "I don't have any friends, and... um... what are you doing?"

Katara sucked in a startled breath, releasing the material she had clutched, tensed to jerk away, but then she sagged against me. "I don't know," she whined. "You're just so _warm_."

I lifted my hands to her shoulders. I hesitated to pry her off, but my lips were so close to her hairline, and my hands itched to close across her lower back. She shivered into the heat of my torso, and it felt far too much like an invitation. I instantly regretted peeling away from her. I forced stability into my voice.

"Come on, I'll buy you an umbrella or something."

Katara wrapped her arms around herself and huddled against the column while I returned to the counter and took my food, leaving the bowl unclaimed. "I thought you spent all your money on rice cakes," she said.

"I said _nearly_ all of it." I handed her one of the cakes. "But I still have a letter of credit."

"What?"

"A letter of credit—imagine that you father has ten seal skins, and you want a stone spearhead worth two—" Her tiny fist was in my gut before I could finish the sentence.

"I know how money works! What I mean is why do you have a letter of credit? I thought you were banished."

"My father isn't going to let a Prince of his own blood wander the Earth Kingdom penniless. I might be banished, but I'm still his son. I'm still royalty."

"Why didn't you use it for the food?"

I stood at the edge of the pavilion, scanning the adjoining streets for a sign that would mark the general store. "I don't like to use it for little things. Most store owners complain about accepting it for small purchases, and even if they did, the accountants in the Fire Palace have to tally up each claim on it before my father approves the payments."

"Why does that matter to you? You're royalty. Don't the accountants just have to do what you say?"

"They'll most likely be my accountants, too," I told her. "It serves my interests not to disgruntle them before I'm even Fire Lord." I pinpointed the store and looked down at Katara. She was staring at me, her eyebrows furrowed. "What?" I asked, but she just raised her eyebrows to smooth the wrinkle and shook her head without answering. With a mental shrug, I took her wrist and stepped out from under the pavilion, dragging her after me.

I slowed, casually eating my soggy cake, as a Fire Nation patrol crossed in front of the store, and then I pulled Katara through the open door. I let her go and brushed the water from my face with my sleeve, taking cursory stock of the shop's layout and the Earth Kingdom wares interspersed with Fire Nation imports. Katara, unanchored, drifted toward a wall that held pots and bowls while I found the shop counter. I swung my duffel bag forward on my shoulder to dig inside it. My fingers closed on the oilskin that protected the one comfort I still had.

"I'm looking for an umbrella or an oiled cloak," I said to the store owner as I unrolled the skin and flattened the letter on the counter; the bottom of the page, next to my father's signature, was emblazoned with the Fire Lord's seal. "Anything to keep the rain off. And whatever other traveling supplies you have."

The shopkeeper glanced at the seal and then at my scar. He reached for the letter and turned it face down. "I can't help you."

"You're out?"

"You're credit is no good."

"What do you mean? Do you know who I am?" I fought my outrage at his audacity—and in an occupied village, no less—and stabbed the back of the letter with my finger. "This is the—"

"I'm well aware," he interrupted with a quiet hiss, "of who you are and of where you got this. You should be aware of a few things, as well."

Sensing the sudden tension, Katara ventured closer, squeezing in next to me at the counter. The shopkeeper studied her for a moment until she curled her fingers into the bunched fabric at my elbow, and then he swiveled his attention back to me.

"A week ago, word reached Hanoki—and the rest of the colonies and occupied territories, I'm sure—that certain letters of credit were being revoked and that use of said letters was to be reported immediately." The shopkeeper glanced toward the door, beyond which a few Fire Nation soldiers milled, and Katara stiffened. I quickly placed a hand on her arm.

"If you planned to report me," I told the shopkeeper, "you wouldn't have bothered mentioning any of this."

The shopkeeper scratched his cheek with the long nails of his left hand. "Information is information," he said with a shrug. "Everything is for sale. It just depends on who has the coin to buy it... or keep it off the market. The Fire Nation isn't exactly famous for dealing fairly with Earth Kingdom businesses. I'd just as soon keep them out of mine. That would be easier if someone else were to fund the effort."

I scowled but dug into my pouch, my fingers grazing the bottom of the sack as I produced a few coins. "This is all I have." I showed them to him and then drew them back in my fist. "What else do you know?"

"That some members of the royal family are a hot commodity these days, to be detained by all respectful measures and escorted to Capitol City, by order of the Fire Lord himself."

I know I paled. I spread my fingers and dropped the coins onto the counter. From the corner of my eye, I saw Katara's eyebrows lift as I snatched back my letter and stuffed it into my bag.

"We need to leave, now," I told her. Our business concluded, the shopkeeper scooped up his money and turned away, and Katara followed me back out into the street. We were noticed as little on our way out of Hanoki as we had been on the way in, but I didn't feel safe until we were well out of the village, following the road again as it snaked along next to the swollen river. I didn't realize how fast I had been moving until Katara heaved up next to me, panting. I slowed to let her breathe.

"I don't understand," she gasped. "You're the Fire Prince—why are we running from Fire Nation soldiers?"

I stood there, dumbly trying to figure out what I was going to do while I watched the way the rain dimpled the river, the ripples being carried downstream before they dissipated. Ripples. There seemed to be some elusive insight in that concept, but all lucid thought was blocked by one belly-rotting revelation.

"He cut me off."

"Well," Katara mocked, apparently unconcerned by my personal crisis, "I guess I'll just have to show you how people from the _intellectual tundra_ make do." She didn't understand, and the reminder of the real danger shook me from my stupor.

"If they take me back to the Fire Nation, I won't be able to capture the Avatar."

"I'm good with that," she said, and I frowned, turning toward her.

"Before you get any clever ideas," I warned, "consider what a mob of Fire Nation soldiers might do to you while I'm confined. If my father's orders were really for my arrest, then I'm not sure they would obey any of mine."

"I thought your father wouldn't let you run around like you were poor. Why would he revoke your credit?"

"I guess he knows about Zhao." I wondered if the ship had been found and whether Uncle was on his way home right now. I had no way to contact him; I would just have to continue to the rendezvous and hope he was there. I silently prayed that if he had been arrested, my father wouldn't blame Uncle for the things I had done. But there was nothing I could do, now; I wouldn't go home until I had restored my honor. And after I had restored my honor, then my father would listen to me.

"I have to find the Avatar, now more than ever."

"And we're back to that," Katara groaned as she slogged past me. "Great."

* * *

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**LehcarMarie:** Thanks for the comment. I get worried when I'm doing an action scene that everything's getting visually jumbled up, so I'm glad it still made sense to you.

**lucawindmover:** I think that even though Katara has promised no more fighting, she might not necessarily mean "fully cooperating." We'll see how it goes. I'm glad you liked the humor. I don't get a lot of chances in this fic (I feel like) to add in funny lines. It's fun when I find a place I can do stuff like that. I don't want the whole fic to be way too heavy. I read those first two chapters of "Closer…" but I realize now I forgot to review, and responding to this comment reminded me to check for more. When I get a chance, I'll read the rest of what's posted and give you some comments!

**AnnaAza:** I think Zuko feels the same way about that you do. Plus, he just woke up from a word where there was all this cooperation for a greater good between the different Nations… and he just got a real-world taste of that cooperation, only to have it end in suspicious and distrust. I know that bending blocking is a frequent device in Zutara capture fic, and it is really hard to keep Katara under control without employing it, but right now, I don't have any plans to block her abilities. I think I would rather her not fight him because whatever situation they're in makes her _choose_ not to, rather than have her be helpless.

**uffda1nat:** See, every time I post something, I think it's sooo predictable. I'm glad it's giving you some surprises. I've been practicing with believable dialog. I think I have more dialog than expository in this chapter, but I'm not sure it's as sharp as the previous chapter's. As far as momentum, given some of the comments from last chapter, I thought I should try to slow things down a tad with this chapter. I've got action in the next chapter, and then more action… But, yes, I am having fun writing.

**bandgeek4life4281:** Haha! I'm sure your friend was grateful for the oh-so-important text about my fic. :P Although I'm still going to constantly throw obstacles in their paths, I hope they'll be able to maintain some kind of companionability. I just feel like, with the way I've set them up, they get more accomplished on a personal level when their tempers flare.

**KatsPaws1294:** Maybe when I go back and correct chapters, I'll add a chapter between 13 and 14 to show more time apart and slow things down a little. So, I'll try to explain what happened with the mud… The rain soaked the mountainside that the town was built into, so the mountain started coming apart in a mudslide. The soil had high clay content. With the benders working together, Katara was able to take some of the water out, the Earthbenders shaped the mud into a stable form, and then Zuko fireblasted it to harden it…. Sort of like how you make pottery in a kiln (oven). They eventually formed a sort of retaining wall that held back the rest of the mud. I guess I should have explained it better.

**bebe2pink:** Thanks for the comment. I'm glad you think there's some originality in this story. I will most likely stumble into a lot of really well-explored territory, but maybe we'll find something new along the way too. I don't think there's actually going to be a lot in this story that Zuko actually _wants_ to do, but events will force him to make choices.

**sokkantylee:** The fighting/foreplay thing is just going to get worse; I hope no one ends up gouging their eyes out. Zuko goes back and forth, in his own head, between what Katara means to him, which Katara she is, what he wants from her, and just about everything else related to their situation. Very confusing times for him… and for her too.

**LuvinAniManga:** Sorry this update took so long, and sorry if the dialog isn't quite as dramatic. I feel like the "talking from the shadows" scene was tough to follow without being unnecessarily gratuitous. Plus, every time things get too intense, they have to step back. I'm glad you liked the fountain scene, though; it's great to hear a scene had an impact on a reader.

**beastlySmalless:** "…this chapter is slightly reminiscent of a mudslide…." I'm glad I read the rest of that review! It was a neat analogy, though (it reminded me of professional critic review or something). Several people really liked the fountain scene. Writing it, I wasn't sure whether anyone would. It seems like all the things that people like, I think are stupid while I'm writing them. It bewilders me. Anyway, yeah, you and Katara both thought we were going back to the ship, but no deal. I'm not actually sure we'll ever get them back on the ship… _a _ship, certainly… but not his.

**akay2:** I think the story will almost always be: mad Zutara action mad Zutara action mad… Zuko's not so good with the ladies, apparently… but then he is… but then he's not. Thanks for reading.

**jdeppgirl4:** I thought about doing a chapter in between, and I really do think it needed one; I just let my own impatience and boredom get the better of me and rushed the scene. I'm going to try for more even pacing from now on. Although, yes, we did get to the good stuff faster. Maybe after all is said and done and I'm editing, I'll be able to write an interim chapter that isn't just filler.

**Gelly619:** Thanks for reading and commenting!

**senbo-sama:** I'm glad you like the way the story is going; thanks for posting and letting me know.

**Queen Of Hell And Muffins:** Thanks for the high praise! I'm glad you can see the scene as you read. That's really something I worry about losing from chapter to chapter. Like, I don't feel like this chapter was as vivid as the others have been. I've been working on tightening up my prose, and I'm not completely comfortable with what to cut and what to leave yet.

**sammmm:** I'm glad to have you as a reader. Thanks for reviewing!

**Speedykitten1643:** I wasn't sure if you meant in this chapter (in which case, read the explanation I gave KatsPaws) or in the storyline in general. I hope things will clear up a little in the next few chapters and the direction of the plot will be clearer. But if you have questions, feel free to PM.

**smiles13:** The whole idea of Zuko chasing Katara is compelling, but I just don't think that's where the important stuff happens (in this story). They have more of an impact on the world and their own lives when they're together, so I needed to get us back to that. Plus, this is going to be a long fic—I'm not sure we've got time for long chases. ;) But I'm glad it was at least entertaining to you.

**Kezz:** Thanks for complimentary review. I hope you'll keep reading.

**Krissy Anne:** I'm trying to remember if I got sniffly writing Chapter 8. I think I did, a tiny bit, when Iroh was talking. There is another scene I wrote that I did slip a tear on, but I don't think I'm ever going to actually post that scene (at least not an unedited one) because it's just way too much of a bodice-ripper romance scene, which I think would be out of place where I was going to stick it. Oh well. Into the Deleted Scenes it goes.

**Tonks13:** Thanks! I'm glad I stand up well to a lot of what you've read on here. But there are a ton of good fics out there. Check out some of the Avatar LJ communities for recommendations. Some of them really are great; mine doesn't even make the discerning recs cut.

**iShoutacake:** I have this horrible temptation to make them all huggy, but I really need them not to be for a few more chapters or things won't happen the way they should… after that, well… Thanks for R&Ring!

**samantha12:** Thanks! This was kind of a lazy chapter. Not quite the... I don't know, rhythm I usually go with, but I'll pick up the tempo in a bit.

**byrcca:** I'm glad you enjoyed the interaction and the hard-hitting dialog. Sometimes they just have to bust on out with the truth. I really love Zuko's character in the show, how conflicted he always is and how huge every decision seems to be for him. I hope I'm doing him justice.

**Marin the Sailor:** You should feel sorry for Zuko and happy for a Katara right now; things are not going his way at all. Later, you can feel happy for both of them. I'm glad that Zuko seems to be a sympathetic character in this story. I wanted him to be still Zuko but someone you could see trying to do the right thing…. Or the wrong thing for the right reasons.

**Hitenisababe:** I do think Zuko missed her. ;)

**Sassan:** Yeah, we've got lots of roaming time and no going back to the ship coming up. And you're quite the psychic—they will have to seek shelter in a cave in a couple of chapters. (You know, I'm going to be so glad when it stops raining…)

**Jojororo:** "like a true author" may be one of the best compliments I've received since that's what I hope to be someday. Glad to see I don't look like a _total_ poser. I'm glad you like the descriptions. Sometimes it's hard to think of new ways to describe things, but that's what writers do, right? Hope you liked the new chapter.

**Annella:** If you mean 13 was different? Then yeah, I don't usually do that jumping back and forth thing. Or if you mean this was different from other Zutara capture fics… thanks? I can't tell if you were good, bad, or indifferent about the difference… Next revision, I think I'll break that chapter into two and expand on each character's POV. Zuko was bizarrely always just magically where he needed to be to attack the gaang. I guess that's a cartoon for you. Wasn't my intention to mimic that, but *sheepish look.* I'm glad you love their relationship, fledgling though it is. What I like about it is that despite still being enemies at this point, they're becoming familiar with each other—habits, nuances, moods—and I think it's hard to realize those things about someone and still hate them. I can't figure out what everyone is so enamored of the dream world. Lol. I guess I'll have to go back to it someday and write some short stories.

**Quentanilien:** I have horrible grammatical flubs all over the place. I'm terrible at self editing; I read what I meant to write instead of what's there. No matter what I do, there's always something that makes me cringe after posting. Someone has already suggested that I go back at some point and replace the chapters, and man, have I found things I want to replace! (I also use stared and starred and scared and scarred interchangeably… *Sigh*) I'll add your critiques to my list. Thanks!

And thanks, also for the praise. (My premise is believable; yay! We'll see if you still think that by chapter 24.) Zuko's identity crisis is hard to deal with; I'm not sure I gave it the right catalyst, but I have other problems coming up that force him to decide who he wants to be. And yeah, the fight with Zhao accomplished two very crucial things—killing Zhao, obviously, and killing ugly ponytail hair. I was really glad to get away from it.

**sillynditzy:** I made you fall in love with Zutara? Awesome! Thanks for reading!

As always, thanks everyone who has read, favorited, or put this story on alert!


	16. Liberation

Chapter Sixteen – Liberation

KATARA

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We crouched behind a blind of trees on a small rise between the road and the river. Rain drops grew too fat to cling to the branches overhead and fell down to splatter my shoulders as I knelt next to Zuko. Below our vantage point, several yards short of the bridge that spanned the river, a makeshift camp hugged a deep cut in the bank. An anchored tugboat and a barge, heavy with tarp-covered sacks and barrels, bobbed in the sheltered currents.

"It's probably the food from the village."

Zuko nodded. "They'll pull it upstream to a Fire Nation ship as soon as this rain lets up and the river is navigable, again." He pulled the strap of his duffel bag over his head and sat the bag on the boggy ground between us. "We can't wait that long."

"What are you going to do?"

"Distract them," he said as he rummaged.

I turned away to view the camp, again. I could clearly see two soldiers making rounds in the rain and another tending the fire. A handful of others were probably sleeping in the small tents.

"Can't we just go around?"

"I don't know where else we'll cross the river," Zuko said behind me. "It's going to be high and swift everywhere. And I'm not going to risk floundering all night through wilderness in the rain."

I kept my gaze on the camp, scanning for dark, moving shapes to add to my count. I absently reached back to get Zuko's attention, grazing his sleeve with my fingers. "There are at least three men down there," I said, as my head began to follow my hand. "I don't think you shou—"

Just as I completed my turn, a grotesque face of twisted blue and white filled my vision, and I pitched backward with fear. The demon descended on me, wrestling me to the ground and clamping a gloved hand over my mouth as I struggled to scream. Wrenching one arm free of its hold, I shoved at its face, which slipped upward, revealing a startled prince.

"It's me!" Zuko hissed and yanked his hand from my mouth.

"Wha—" My whisper instantly turned from breathless terror to indignant rage as I stared up at him. "What are you doing in that thing?"

His frown tightened. "I'm in disguise." He pulled the mask down over his face, again, and started to rise.

"Wait a second," I said, reaching for his face. "I've seen this mask before." I pushed it back up, uncovering Zuko's scowl. "On wanted posters in the Colonies."

"This isn't the first time I've needed to be in disguise," he explained and pulled the mask back down.

I pushed it up, again. "You're wanted as an enemy of the Fire Nation."

"I'm not an enemy of the Fire Nation." He stretched his hand over the mask, hesitating for a moment. "I'm not," he insisted and settled the mask over his features.

"Well, the Fire Nation sure seems to think The Blue Spirit is... along with Aang… and Jeong Jeong... and Jet…." I pushed the mask up. "What did you do?"

Zuko stared at me for several seconds. "I freed the Avatar, once," he reluctantly admitted. When my eyes lit up with questions, he pacified me with a single answer. "It was after the whole… pirate incident." He pulled the mask back down.

When I reached for the mask a fourth time, Zuko intercepted and squeezed my wrist until I jerked it away from him. "Fine," I muttered, "but after we get across that bridge, you've got about a million things to explain."

The demon knelt back on his heels as he sighed—a harsh, growling sound muffled behind the plaster—and I scrambled into a crouch.

The Blue Spirit—I blinked hard as I tried to wrap my mind around the idea that the wanted ghost was really Zuko, prince of the Fire Nation—drew the swords from his back as he stood, and then he nudged the duffel bag across the ground until it touched my knees. With one of the sharp blades, he pointed toward the duffel and then to the bridge.

"You could just _say_ you want me to take the bag with me when I cross."

The mask slowly moved back and forth. Apparently, even Zuko couldn't get his mind around the fact that he was The Blue Spirit. I decided to grant him his anonymity. At least he was acting against the Fire Nation in some small way—even if it was for his own selfish motives and even if he couldn't bear to do it as himself.

As The Blue Spirit set off to commit minor treason, I pulled the duffel bag strap over my head and stood, stumbling slightly under the added weight. I sneaked forward to a clump of bushes, a hiding place that put me in prime position to run for the bridge when Zuko unleashed his diversion. As I huddled behind a bush, I scanned the rest of the bank, my gaze searching up the tree trunks into the branches, but The Blue Spirit had vanished.

While I waited, I breathed on my hands and then tucked them under my armpits. I really hoped that wherever that bridge led, it would take us out of the rain. I felt a little treasonous myself saying it, but I was too cold, wet, and tired to put up with it much longer. I was still hungry—weak with it, actually, although I wouldn't let Zuko know that after the lecture in Hanoki—and Zuko had been setting such a driving pace. My head hurt, and I was pretty sure I could feel a cold coming on. All I wanted to do was lie down somewhere dry and sleep for a week.

In the darkness ahead, my vision caught slight movement. A shadow dipped soundlessly from the branches that extended over the water. As it lowered and caught the glow of the fire, I could tell that The Blue Spirit was hanging from his knees over the river between the barge and the tugboat. He brought his swords down, crossed his arms one over the other as he stretched the weapons toward the water, and then he slashed them apart, cutting through the ropes that bound the barge to the boat. Almost immediately, he pulled himself back into the tree branches, hidden from view again, and the barge, caught by swifter waters, was pulled from its protected anchorage and began to drift downstream.

The barge was a several yards from the camp by the time a soldier noticed its escape.

"The barge is loose!" he alerted his fellows as he stumbled down the embankment. "Hurry! Help me!"

The guard stoking the fire leaped to his feet and began kicking at the entrance to the tent. "Get up you fools! The barge is headed downstream." Blankets flying, boots only half on, the soldiers stumbled out of the tent and lurched toward the river. They ran alongside the bank as they chased after the barge, which just kept drifting farther and farther out of their reach. The barge would likely plow ashore along the sharp bight near Hanoki long before the soldiers could intercept it. After several men passed me in a blind rush, I stepped from my hiding spot and took off toward the bridge.

Now that I was closing on the bridge, I could tell it was little more than a foot path, too narrow for wagons to pass each other head on and too low for the tugboat to have safely cleared it with the water so high. I carefully navigated the bloated, slippery wooden planks as I made my way across, looking down occasionally into the swift torrent below.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I froze in the middle of the bridge and slowly turned my head. A half-dressed soldier lunged toward the other end. He held no sword, but the glint in his eyes assured me he was armed. I shoved the duffel bag around to my back to give me room to move my arms. The off-balance stance I scrambled into was regarded with a low chuckle. We were suspended over the rushing water, rain all around us, so it took me a second to get the joke—of course; he thought I was an Earthbender. _Get ready for the punch line, buddy._

As I prepared to unleash the entire storm on the Fire Nation soldier, I heard a thunk on the wood behind me. If The Blue Spirit had made noise as he dropped down onto planks, then it had been so he could get my attention. I dutifully glanced over my shoulder, and at the shake of his head, I reluctantly abandoned my bending stance.

The three of us stood there for several seconds, no one daring to make the first move, but then I took a cautious step toward The Blue Spirit, and activity erupted on the bridge. The soldier darted forward, shaking the planks beneath me, and The Blue Spirit swept in from the other side, flourishing his swords. I dipped beneath his outstretched arm and pivoted in time to see him engage the soldier. My heart pounded for five seconds, maybe six, before the soldier toppled over the bridge rail into the river. He gasped and clawed as the current swept him away.

The Blue Spirit stood in the middle of the bridge, the tips of his Dao swords dragging furrows against the wood as he slouched forward to watch the soldier go under.

"Come on," I called from the safety of land, and the mask turned in my direction. I shuddered at its unchanging, inhuman sneer. "Let's go."

He moved then, lithely crossing the rest of the bridge as he sheathed his swords, and grabbed my arm as he passed, pulling me along with him. We ran down the road a fair ways, until we reached an outcropping of rock, dusted over with trees and bushes. Edging around to the lee side, we found mild shelter from the rain, and I collapsed onto the ground. Zuko leaned against the rock and slid downward until he was seated next to me.

I watched him push the mask up over his head. Beneath the plaster, his face held no trace of the sinister, white-fanged grin. He tilted his head back, and I could tell by his slight frown that he was disturbed. When he noticed me staring, he closed his eyes.

"That's two." He dropped the mask into the mud.

My shoulders sagged as I tried to catch my breath. "You don't know that he's dead." I tried to comfort him, but I wasn't sure what to say to appease his guilt. "The other soldiers will fish him out." I raised my eyebrows and leaned forward with more enthusiasm. "And that will give the people of Hanoki more time to discover the barge."

While he wallowed in his regret, I held the duffel bag to my chest and pulled the strap over my head. When it tangled with my wet braid, I flung my hand around to bend the water out of it, but Zuko snagged my wrist.

"No more bending," he warned.

My jaw dropped open. "What do you mean, no more bending? I can't fight hand to hand. What am I supposed to do when we're attacked?"

"You'll just have to trust me to take care of it." The determined set of Zuko's jaw, alone, might have convinced me that I could, but to really grind in the importance of the order, he added, "The Fire Nation is looking for a Firebending prince and a Waterbending peasant. We can't be those things anymore."

I shoved his duffel bag at him. The ease with which he looped it across his body and sprang to his feet shaded my tone with resentment. "That shouldn't be too hard for you."

The hand he had extended to help me off the ground was rescinded. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that I don't think we have to worry about anyone mistaking your deeds for noble ones, _Your Highness_."

Zuko's scar crinkled at my jab, and his good brow sloped down over his narrowed eye. "Don't call me that, either. Don't use any terms of respect to my station that might give us away."

I was trying to stand up as he spoke, but my legs weakened suddenly, and I collapsed back onto the ground. I curled around a laugh so deep it ripped through every muscle in my core on its way out. Between gasps for air and more body rocking derision, I choked out, "When—have I ever—" I took an enormous breath and sighed, trying to control myself "—referred to you with anything resembling respect."

Zuko turned slightly, hiding his face in the shadows.

I stopped laughing, then, and pushed myself upright. "That bothers you, doesn't it?"

Zuko fidgeted and then looked down at me. "Whatever else you think of me, I am still a prince. Would it kill you to acknowledge that in some fashion…ever?"

I shook my head, tightening my mouth as a disbelieving grin threatened to reappear. "You aren't _my_ prince."

Genuine hurt brushed Zuko's features—brief but evident—before his expression snapped back to stern disapproval. "Bumi isn't your king," he pointed out. "But if we were in Omashu, I bet you'd use his proper title."

"Bumi isn't the son of a psychopathic dictator bent on enslaving the entire world."

Zuko clenched his fists, but I waved him down.

"Yeah, yeah," I conceded and in a deep, melodramatic tone, parroted, "I don't know anything about you or your father."

He moodily looked away, but didn't bother pursuing the topic, and I sat in silence, Zuko brooding above me, until I remembered that he was due for an interrogation.

"Why did you free Aang?"

Zuko looked slightly startled as he glanced down at me, but then he shrugged. "Zhao had captured the Avatar, and I needed the Avatar so I could go home. Sometimes, you have to commit small sins for the greater good."

"Small sins," I mused. "Like the barge and the soldier on the bridge? Like killing Zhao?"

He frowned and shifted from one foot to the other. "What are you getting at?"

"Just that for a Fire Nation prince, you seem to spend a lot of time thwarting your own military."

"Zhao got in my way."

I nodded, glancing down at my knees so I wouldn't have to meet his hard gaze. "Between you and your crown," I acknowledged.

Zuko suddenly crouched next to me, and I stared into his guileless eyes as he shook his head. "Between me and my home."

I sucked in a breath as he leaned toward me, and I forced myself to stay still when he reached out and gently brushed his fingers across my throat.

"I don't have a necklace, Katara. Everything I remember about my mother is back there; everything I've ever known is waiting for me in the Fire Nation. All I have out here is the promise I made to her."

"And your mother would have wanted you to kill someone to keep that promise?" I could barely hear my own quiet voice.

"My mother…" he faltered, his fingers lingering on my skin, "…would have wanted me to protect you."

His golden gaze cradled mine for a few seconds, but then I broke away to stare off into the trees and he dropped his hand. With a defeated sigh, he stood and scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Get up," he finally ordered. "We have to keep moving."

"I can't move. I'm too tired."

"We can't stay here," he said. Zuko reached out his hand and, when I accepted it, pulled me to my feet. "If they do find the soldier in the river, they'll know someone sabotaged the barge. They'll come looking if they haven't sent someone already."

I grudgingly agreed and trudged back out onto the road behind Zuko. I don't know how far we walked—another two or three miles, maybe—before the general gray that represented daylight began to falter under the heavy shroud of twilight. The darker it got, the more often I tripped, and it was getting harder and harder to pick myself up out of the mud. I envied Zuko his endurance.

I trudged, fell, trudged, fell, and then I struck my knee on a stone, the small pain managing to strip me of the last of my strength. I didn't bother trying to get up again. As I started to pitch sideways, I heard Zuko shout my name. Splashing sounds grew louder as quick feet approached me, and Zuko knelt in the mud, hefting me into his arms. As he bent over me, his hair dripped water onto my face, along with the rest of the rain.

"Katara." I could hear the worry in his voice.

"Go on without me," I told him, weakly.

"That's not funny."

"It's a little funny."

"Stand up," he said and he lifted my arm around his shoulders, stooping to pull me upright. I sagged against him, my legs rubbery and useless beneath me. He held me tightly to keep me from slipping back down into the mud.

"I can't," I said and there were tears in my voice. I was so exhausted. My head rolled against him, my eyes closing.

"Wake up, Katara," he ordered, jostling me. "You can't sleep here. I have to get you some place warm first."

"Warm sounds good," I admitted, my head rolling backward this time. I was only vaguely aware of a rumbling sound, a slight quaking under my feet that might have just been my own shaking. But I knew something had happened when Zuko raised his hand and shot a stream of fire across the road. Ostrich horses screamed and something splashed, sloshing to a messy halt in the road. Hinges squeaked.

"This girl needs help," I heard him call out, his tone full of authority.

"So much for the rules," I murmured, realizing he had stopped a vehicle. "Make sure they bow when you introduce yourself." As Zuko slipped his arm beneath my knees and lifted me higher into his arms, I finally closed my eyes. I shivered into his chest and then all sound faded away.

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**AnnaAza:** You have to remember that Zuko never actually sent the letter of explanation to his father; it was still on his desk when Katara escaped. All Ozai knows is what he's heard from Zhao's men, which I'm sure is unflattering to Zuko. I think a lot of things probably hurt Zuko. In his early years, under his mother's influence, he seemed like a very sensitive soul, but then Ozai hardened him. It still has to be in there somewhere. As far as explaining things, I only learn when people comment on what needs to be improved or explained. If someone didn't get something, then I can only assume I didn't do my job fully as a writer. I at least owe an explanation so they'll be prepared for the rest of the story and then try to clean it up in revision.

**beastlySmalless:** The only thing I don't like about the long response sections is that it adds about as many words as the chapter itself, and I feel like I'm totally cheating on my word count. What I like most about it is getting to reread everyone's comments as I reply—major ego boost. (You guys are awesome.) I think trouble is always just around the corner for these two—maybe not pirates or volcanoes, but it's always got to be something. If it makes you feel better, Zuko did totally miss Katara. He might not admit it to himself, but he's more comfortable with her than without her.

**LuvinAniManga:** Thanks for the comments. I hope it's going where you think it's going, then, because I'd hate for you to be disappointed. I'd like to start putting more and more fluff into the scenes. I think they're getting to a point where some fluff will just be natural.

**Sassan:** Thanks for staying with the story and for dissing your video game to read it. I am a tease. I am going to be a much bigger tease in subsequent chapters. ;)

**jdeppgirl4:** I think getting cut off by his father is a real wake up call for Zuko; it's simultaneously a betrayal and a sign of how badly he's screwed up his mission. We'll see what happens.

**akay2:** Yes, they have a serious problem. They're going to have to be extra sneaky from now on and the secrets they have to keep are going to spin them into even more trouble. Thanks for the love.

**uffda1nat:** I'm sure Rowling will be glad to know she's in such esteemed company… lol. :P I'm glad the story inspires you to talk about it, though. Zuko's dream is just going to keep digging him in deeper with Katara. I think it would be hard in that situation to draw a line between what you know and what you're supposed to know. Thank you so much for your condolences; it's nice to know I'm being thought of.

**lucawindmover:** It's tough for Zuko. He wants her, obviously, but it's not like he's the kind of guy, in reality, who can just take advantage of that. So he has to fight all these feelings and instincts he was never supposed have… it's probably exhausting. There's a lot more cooperation in the upcoming chapters… and then a decided lack of cooperation, and then more cooperation. What's interesting to me is this fragile semblance of a friendship they're forming, and yet, it's not viable as long as Zuko wants what he wants and Katara wants what she wants. You gotta wonder where the breaking point will be. Thanks for reading!

**FIRE LADY OREN:** Welcome back and thanks for commenting! I think it gets easier after a while to keep them in character because they shift and evolve within the story itself. Eventually, I'm working more with my characterization of them, as the story's moved them, than I am with the show's characterization, specifically. Anyway, yes, I think Zuko does a lot of things out of desperation, and that panic factor still has places to play in here.

**ArrayePL:** I hope you like unexpected, then. Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed the update.

**Akiiya Uchiha:** I'm not sure if my Zuko would know what to do with a move if he did make one. He might assume Katara would just as soon kill him as kiss him at this point. We'll see if he gets his nerve up in a few chapters. There's definitely going to be a little more innuendo.

**Paws101294:** Right, so the image I was trying to set was that she had her hands on his chest, her fingers clutching the cloth of his robe. And then when he called her attention to it, she let go, surprised by what she'd been doing… But, no, I wasn't trying to suggest that she was farther south than his chest. ;) I'm getting a little tired of the forest scene… how about a barn? A nice, cold barn….

**Lale-Angelica:** I hope you eventually got the homework done! I don't think Zuko has completely come to terms with his feelings, but he's working on it. I mean, the feelings are there, but they're really inconvenient to his mission, so I'm sure he'd banish them if he could… if it were that easy. He's going to have to decide what's most important to him. And yes, Katara has her work cut out for her in healing Zuko, and that's going to be tougher than it looks—I mean, he's not the only one broken. As far as Ursa's fate, I can tell that I have a theory and it drives portions of the story, but I can't tell you what it is. Not yet, anyway.

**Tonks13:** Glad I could entertain you. Thanks for dropping by and giving it a read!

**Janedoe401:** It's funny that such innocent little fluff gets to you guys. Sometimes I think it's going to be the big thing I put in, but it turns out to be the little stuff. I'll have to remember that. Thanks for reviewing!

**Sapphire addict:** Thanks. I try really hard with Zuko's character… not that I don't try with Katara, but I think I have an easier time with Zuko because he's my favorite character. He's just got some many layers to work with.

**KawaiiOniKitsune:** I'm glad you like where I started things off. It was sort of an arbitrary decision and I really only settled on the timeline after the first few chapters (something in there, I recently realized, really screwed me up, so I have to change a couple of plans down the road), but one thing I really did want to incorporate was Katara's lack of training. I wanted that to be something Zuko ended up helping her with, something they could find common ground in.

**Kimberly T.:** Yeah, see I'm not entirely sure my Zuko has masculine charms yet, going back to the whole being terrible with girls thing. Katara doesn't exactly make things easy. But, no, one of the things I really wanted to avoid was the pitfall of making Katara sacrifice her loyalty to… well, everyone, just to shag Zuko. I'm not saying that Katara is never going to be tempted a little, but she's quite capable of controlling herself. I'm also a huge fan of S3 Zuko… and what kind of Zutara story would this be if it wasn't headed in that direction? ;) You really kind of touched me with your assessment of the dream world, pretty much hitting dead on how I feel it affected Zuko because you're right, it's not just that he was with Katara… it was also that he was a member of an heroic nation and he really shined in that environment. And now he's back in reality. And you're right about his interaction with Katara too. I mean, yeah, he's not insane, he knows things can't work out, but there's still this part of him that can't help trying. But we also know that Zuko can do a lot of things when he really puts his mind to it. Welcome to the story, btw. Glad to have you along.

**Ms Llewellyn:** Yes, Zuko's honor is beyond reproach. *Must not grope the girl snuggling into chest* Actually, Katara doesn't convince Zuko to stop pursuing Aang… but Fate has a way of playing things.

**iShoutacake:** I like being cute on occasion. I just wrote something for the next chapter that's so cute it's embarrassing… and then something that's touching… All in all, the next chapter will be nice, cuddly Zutara…. And not just because Katara is asleep.

**eggerts:** I'm glad you liked the chapter. I do feel like this is the cleanest (well, second cleanest; my beta really helped streamline chpt 11) that I've written so far. In some ways, that makes it my favorite too, and I got to unleash a few plot points. That always makes me happy. Thanks for the review!

**Lariren-Shadow:** As mentioned, thanks so much for pointing out the discrepancy. For anyone else who noticed that, it's been fixed now. Thanks, too, for the other suggestions you made in PM; they've been very helpful. I'm glad you like this story, and thanks for the encouragement. I like these two stubborn, too… and I don't think that's going to change, at least not a lot.

**Reverie Wilde:** I think it's safe to assume a Zutara story (where I've promised not to kill them) will end with a big Zutara happy. It's getting there that will be bumpy. Sorry for the torture. I can't pretend I'll stop doing that, though. I will get them even closer together before I tear them apart again, if that helps at all. And yes, replying to reviewers does take a while, but it's fun and if you guys can take the time to review the story, then I feel like I can take the time to thank you for it. And it gives me time to ponder what you guys are saying about the fic so I can take that feedback into account.

**Alijandra:** Excellent, I'll send out the wedding invites and order the cake and—oh, wait. You probably didn't mean it like that… *blushes* Anyway, glad to have you as a reader. I'm happy you're so enthusiastic about the story!

**Elaanabeth:** Thanks for the review. I'm always thrilled to know that people are enjoying this story. Several people have convinced me to pay a little more attention to the dream universe part of the story, so I think Katara will be making a trip there herself (I say 'I think' but actually I know she will because I've already written it… unless something drastic has to change in the storyline). Zuko might make another trip. We'll see; I sort of feel like he's gotten what he needed out of it, but another little idea has been nudging me. I'm glad you like the characterizations. Evolving them has been a little tricky, and I'm not sure I'm successful with it all the time. Letting them grow but not too quickly is a balancing act.

**senbo-sama:** I think Zuko is going to learn to listen more and more, but how much depends on how much trust he's built in Katara—baby steps, you know. Thanks for taking the time to review.

**giroxursox:** Welcome to the story. Thanks for R&Ring.

Hope I got everyone. Bad news is that this chapter was really short. The good news is that the next chapters stands a chance at being pretty long. I have a lot of sweet little scenes I need to put in. Right now, chapter 17 is this long, rolling disjointed mess of 6K+ words, so far. Not all of that will stay and some more needs to be added, but I'm glad that a lot of the writing is done. Maybe I can get it posted in better time than usual.


	17. Escalation

Chapter Seventeen – Escalation

ZUKO

* * *

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**.~***~.**

.

The carriage lurched and slid as two ostrich horses hauled it through the sucking mess of road. I pulled Katara to me, afraid that in her sleep, she would bounce right off the seat onto the floorboards. The carriage owner watched me in silence, and I finally turned my gaze on him. There was no sense in trying to hide my eyes; I had already revealed myself as a Firebender. Now that we were inside the dimly lit carriage, however, I realized we had that in common.

"My name is Kazan," he said.

I opened my mouth to reciprocate but then closed it again. "You may call me Lu Ten," I finally offered.

"You don't speak like someone born in the Colonies," he said.

I hadn't spoken much at all since ordering him to take us into his carriage, but my diction had certainly not been muddled from living generations among rutting Earthbenders.

"I was born on Capitol City Island."

He glanced over my shoulder, where the hilts of my Dao swords pressed against the seat back. "Are you a soldier, then?"

"No."

One of his black eyebrows lifted. "A military career is a much more promising path than a venture to the Colonies, at least for someone born in the glorious capitol city."

For a Fire Nation fellow, he pried like a Waterbender. His studious gaze traversed my muddied clothes and shaggy hair, brushing hurriedly over my scar, as he tried to decipher what I was.

Uncle's voice suddenly seemed to echo in my head._ Vines planted in darkness will always force their way to the surface_;_ secrets are most manageable in the light of just a little telling._

"I'm not a soldier," I said. "My father sent me to the Colonies. I was..." I let my gaze wander toward the window. "There was an incident."

As his stare drifted down to Katara, my focus snapped back and I tucked her closer. Kazan narrowed his eyes and the corner of his mouth tightened.

"A Fire Nation outcast, traveling the Colonies with a young Water Tribe woman," he said and then smiled lightly as he waved down my glare. "I'm not blind. The two of you make an interesting puzzle, though. Is she a servant?" He toyed with his narrow beard as his gaze traced my arms around Katara's shoulders. "No, not a servant, then."

Somewhere in the recesses of my lingering sanity, the voice of discretion finally threw its hands up in defeat as I blurted out the only thing that came to mind. "She's my wife."

Kazan leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, ignoring the bounce of the carriage. "You're very young to be married."

I would be Crown Prince right now if I were allowed home. "I'm of age. And she's... it was an unusual circumstance."

Kazan waited.

"It isn't a very exciting story," I said, and when he didn't sit back again, I blew out a frustrated breath.

"She was captured in a raid and came into my family's service. We were able to come to an agreement." I gestured to the scar at which he had been gracious enough to not stare openly. "Not many women would choose to marry someone in my position." Scarred, dishonored, disgraced, and now suspected of treason—noblemen wouldn't be shoving daughters into my path anytime soon.

"I see," Kazan said. "So, your father sent you to the Colonies with a woman who felt it better to marry her master's son than spend life in servitude." He paused, fingering his beard again. "No doubt she planned to escape you in the Earth Kingdom."

I snorted lightly and nodded. "No doubt."

"And your wife's name?" he asked.

It was all I could do to not say it out loud, just once, so I searched my memory for a Water Tribe name I didn't think would offend Katara to answer to after she woke.

"Hama."

Kazan leaned back in his seat to watch the rain fall outside the carriage window, and I turned my full attention on Katara. I shuffled her higher on my lap, leaning her shoulders back against the carriage wall; she didn't even grunt as I moved her.

I took one of her hands in mine and turned it over to smooth my thumb over the lines in her palm. I brushed the dirt from the lengths and intersections—too pale under her cold skin—and folded my fingers between hers. I lost myself in those few, long moments, staring at the clash of tan against white.

"You're very careful with her."

I dropped Katara's hands back into her lap and turned to stare out the window. "I take my obligations seriously, that's all."

I could feel Kazan's eyes on me. "Quite noble of you."

Another sideways skid rocked the carriage, and I wrapped my arms around Katara, again. We were traveling, Kazan told me, to the house he shared with his own wife, where Katara and I could shelter for the night. The promise of food, a roof, and a bed quelled my objections that no one was actually driving the carriage. The animals, Kazan claimed, knew the road better than he did and, with the rain beating down on them, would not fail to find their way back to the roost.

I could see the farmhouse through the window as we approached. Flickering lanterns cast a haphazard glow on the backdrop of a large, round barn and threw dancing shadows across animal pens and plowing equipment. The carriage jarred to a halt in front of a cobblestone path that wound its way through a darkened yard up to a large green door framed by shuttered windows. Golden slivers shone between the boards.

I lifted Katara and followed Kazan out of the carriage and up the path to the door. He shouted as he opened it.

"Sori, quickly. We have guests in need of refuge."

A petite woman, nearly as tall as my shoulders, bustled out of an adjoining room, wiping her hands on a soiled apron. She glanced from Katara, to me, to Kazan, and then she ushered us into the house with flailing hands.

"In here, in here." Sori hurried into a bedroom at the back of the house, casting fretful glances behind her as I followed. "Is she injured?"

I shook my head. "Cold, exhausted—" I exhaled hotly "—and probably hungry." That's what her stupidity in Hanoki had gotten her.

Sori's little head bobbed like a flustered picken. "On the bed."

I gently laid Katara down and then sat on the edge of the mattress with her, gathering her hands in mine and blowing on them like embers that might jump to life between my palms. Sori fussed at some task behind me as she prattled.

"Here are some dry clothes on the dresser."

"Thank you." Katara's fingers felt cool and thin against mine, like dusty porcelain, the veins oddly discernible beneath her skin.

"Don't worry about the blankets; they'll dry. Just get her out of those wet clothes right away and rub her down."

I nodded mutely as I inspected the purple half moons at the base of Katara's fingernails.

"I'll have Kazan build up the fire. Bring her out when you've dressed her, and we'll get her warmed up."

"Uh-huh." I lifted Katara's hands to my neck and held them against my skin.

Sori said something else in parting and then, closed the door.

The click of the latch was like a gong. I looked up, sweeping my gaze across the room. I watched the door for a moment and, when it didn't open again, turned back to look at Katara... at the door... at Katara... and then, at the stack of nightclothes.

Katara's hands slid from my neck and fell back to her sides. After a few minutes of blank staring, I hopped off the bed. My mind refused to process what I was expected to do. Instead, I pondered how absurdly dangerous Katara seemed, now, unconscious on this bed, compared to bending on the bridge of my ship or pounding me with rain in Kaichoe. I shifted from one muddy boot to the other.

I couldn't... I couldn't even _think_ of it... I paced back and forth in the short space next to the bed. But I also couldn't let her freeze, and I couldn't expose myself as a fraud to Kazan. Katara would be in just as much danger if I didn't sell the ruse.

I grimaced as I took her belt in my fingers, wrestling the bloated knot. In my dream, we had practically been engaged. If I had stayed asleep even an hour longer, I might have lived the wedding and... well, I was sure I would have seen something, which I reasoned, was almost the same as seeing it now. I was doing this for both of us. When she woke up in different clothes, she would be embarrassed, of course, but she would understand the necessity of what I had done. I nodded, resolute. She would forgive me.

Katara would kill me. Firebender or no, as soon as she figured out that I'd had her undressed in any state for any reason, she'd carve me up like a canyon. I started to back away, turning toward the door, but I paused.

All the sense in the world didn't change the fact that she was still in those soaked clothes or that Kazan and Sori were waiting for us. I took a deep breath and moved to the edge of the bed again. With shaking hands, I pulled her robe open. Beneath the robe were the white wrappings I had made her hide with my shirt that first night in my cabin. I told myself there was nothing indecent about them as I drew each arm from its heavy sleeve, pulled her pants down over her leggings, and tossed both garments into a pile on the wooden floor.

I frowned, trying to figure out where the ends of the binding were. I sat back down on the edge of the mattress, again, and took Katara's shoulders, lifting her up to rest against my chest while I inspected her back. I slipped my fingers under the layers, found a frayed edge and pulled it out. I gave it another tug and it shifted forward, under her arm, unwinding from the inside out. As the strip came around to her chest, though, it snagged. I tugged more sharply but then sucked in a breath when I realized what it had caught on. I was afraid if I started wrenching on the fabric, it would only tighten the coil and cut off her circulation.

Leaning her back on the mattress, I placed my palm against the bare expanse of Katara's stomach, between the top of her leggings and the bottom of her chest wrap. Anxiety globbed in my throat like too much sand on a freshly inked scroll, and I tried to swallow through the dryness. Blowing out a slow, steady breath, I inched my fingers beneath the cloth.

It was just a breast. At my age, I should have handled several by now—a tryst with a maid, a secret liaison with the daughter of a tutor. I should have already known what it felt like, been jaded to it. It shouldn't have made any difference that Katara's skin was like silk, even under the blunted perception of my calluses, or that her narrow ribcage fit so easily into my hand as I slid my fingers around it, searching out the errant strip of fabric. I shouldn't have lingered at the border of her breast, grazing the rise with fingertips that hesitated to assault that unspoiled land. I shouldn't have felt like my whole life had been lived just to frame this single event.

But banishment had stunted everything.

The instant I envisioned charging my hand up the enemy slope, I yanked my fingers from her binding and leaped from the bed. After one more desperate glance down her body, I bolted for the door. When I flung it open, Kazan and his wife stared up at me.

"Is everything okay?"

"What? Oh." I wheezed. Why was I wheezing? Agni! Why was it so hot in here? "I um... So, we're... ah, newly... Yes, newly, newly married. And with the quick departure and... uh, the traveling... and the rain, so much rain—" I slipped a finger under the neck of my shirt. Were they forging iron? "—We haven't had a chance to... uh, stop anywhere... so, I've never—I mean, we've never..." I closed my eyes and forced out a sputtering breath. "I can't... she's got these things—" I crisscrossed my chest "—and I don't know how to... with the leggings and... and so angry... I don't... I just can't..."

Kazan suddenly rushed toward me, and I felt his hand under my elbow. He led me a few feet to a chair, and as I collapsed into it, I heard light footsteps scurry away and the bedroom door close.

"Don't worry. Sori will manage it. I hadn't realized—here, breathe," he instructed, pushing my head down between my knees.

The room faded out at the edges as I took a few panicked breaths.

"I mean, I should have," he continued. "You obviously care for the girl, and you don't look like the type to force the issue. No, no, stay upright. There."

I rested my forearms on my knees and calmed down enough to slow my breathing. My vision cleared and my heart slowed.

"All right now?"

I nodded. "Yes. Yes, I think so."

Kazan cuffed a hand against my upper arm. It made a soggy sound. "Maybe you should dry off some, too, while Sori tends to Hama."

I stood and heated my torso until the water in my clothes evaporated. A brittle shell of dirt flaked off onto the floor as I moved. Aside from meditating, I had never been very comfortable with stillness. I began to pace, moving back and forth in front of the stone hearth. I strode past the chairs, floor pillows, and a scuffed wooden table that looked like it had been a part of several households. When I came to the end of the room, I abruptly stopped and straightened. In front of me, a framed scroll had been hung in prominence. I stared at it for a long time, frowning. Uncle's scrawl practically screamed from the bottom of the document.

"You received a commendation at the Siege of Ba Sing Se—" I glanced over my shoulder, watching Kazan with my narrowed eye "—Lieutenant."

As if mention of the siege reminded him of his age, he groaned, stretched his back, and walked over to stand behind me. I subtly shifted my weight to my back foot and rolled my shoulders forward.

"I haven't gone by that rank for a very long time," Kazan said. "Have you ever met the Dragon of the West?"

"I've been in the same room." I tensed my arms and tightened my core.

"Then you should count yourself honored."

I blinked and slowly let my shoulders fall back to a neutral position. "You don't fault him for his failure, there?"

Kazan took a deep breath and raised his eyebrows. As he squinted at the scroll, fine lines I hadn't noticed while we were in the carriage now formed around his eyes, belying his years. "The siege took its toll on all of us—the General not least of all." His gaze moved from the scroll to my narrowed eye. "Did you know you bear the name of his only son?"

I turned my face away to hide the tightening of my jaw. "It was a popular name, given for luck."

The door to the bedroom opened, and I used my poised pivot to face Sori. She fingered a loose tendril of black hair into the crease of her bun and smiled. "She's changed, now. Kazan, why don't you bring her near the fire."

"I don't think I'll be permitted," he said before I had a chance to object. "And I really should put the carriage in the barn and take care of the animals." With a gesture for me to proceed, he strode through a doorway off to the side of the main room into a part of the house I had not seen. I walked into the bedroom.

Katara's clothes had been folded and placed on the floor and she was still lying on the bed, now dressed in a white shift. Loose sleeves billowed out of a long, dark green housecoat held together by three wooden togs down her front. Black-slippered feet peaked out from beneath the bottom hem of the shift. She looked odd in green.

I could hear the legs of one of the chairs scraping across the floor in the next room. I moved Katara's wet braid aside, slipped one arm beneath her shoulders and the other beneath her knees, and carried her out.

Sori pointed to the stuffed chair she had maneuvered closer to the hearth and twisted the corner of her apron in nervous hands. "I'm going to add some things to the soup."

"Where is Kazan?"

She looked up sharply. "In the barn, putting the animals away."

I nodded and sank into the chair, and Sori disappeared into the next room. Alone with Katara, again, I hugged her close, tucked my chin over her shoulder, and breathed warmth down the back of her shift. Her clothes smelled like a linen trunk, musty from disuse. I pulled out the neckline of my own shirt and sniffed beneath it. Between the cold and the rain, I hadn't had much chance to sweat, but the acrid scent of musk and mildew was unmistakable.

I still had an arm around Katara's shoulders, but with my free hand, I began to pick apart her braid, fanning the locks across the arm of the chair so they could dry in the warmth of the fire. Loose, the wet strands bunched into coarse waves, an unmanageable halo I could barely drag my fingers through. How did she tame it every day?

While I brushed her hair, it occurred to me that Katara was the only person, in this life or any other, I had ever held in my arms, and I began to wonder which arms had been around her. Her parents, obviously, her brother, and her friends—but who else? I hated them suddenly—the faceless, nameless shadows of her past, young men who had thought to court her, usurpers who'd had the audacity to try to take a place I didn't even know at the time I would want to claim.

I brushed her hair back from her face. "I thought my life was complicated when I lived in the palace," I said, my voice too low to carry to the kitchen. "All I wanted was to please my father, to learn the things I needed to lead my people." I folded my fingers down between hers, again, and let my thumb rake back and forth across her knuckle. "Being an exile was so much more complicated—two years of aimless wandering, searching for the Avatar, every sighting a century old, every myth a dead end. And then to finally find him, only to have him slip out of my grasp every time. But none of that was as confusing or frustrating as things are now. I know you aren't my friend, Katara, but I don't want you to be my enemy anymore."

Katara slowly blinked and stared up at me, confusion pulling her brows together.

I breathed shallowly, trying to slow my racing heart. I couldn't control my expressions, and I registered the spasmodic flinches of my brow, the intermittent flare of my nostrils, and the slight tremble of my lips as they cycled openly through the feelings I spent most of my life desperately trying to hide. How could this small Waterbender pluck them out of me like scarves from her sleeve?

I saw her indignation turn to wonderment as she counted the emotions in my face: anger because she had caught me being weak, triumph because I possessed her now, sorrow because I never truly would, and longing—oh how painfully I longed for her. Her eyes opened wider, and I could have drowned in them; I could have quenched my own flame in waters that deep. What would it feel like to not burn inside... to be quiet and still, to not wage war, within and without, each time I bent the flame for fear of losing control? How would it feel to not fight her?

I was a starving man watching bread rise as her lips began to form my name, but then Sori called out from the kitchen that the food would be just another minute. Katara scrambled in my arms, sitting up to look around.

"We're in the house of a retired Fire Nation Lieutenant and his Earth Kingdom wife," I whispered. "You passed out on the road. I told them your name is Hama."

She squinted, tilting her head for a moment, and then she lifted an eyebrow. "What's your name?"

"Lu Ten."

She glanced down, where my fingers were still laced through hers, that accusing eyebrow arching higher.

"Oh," I said. "Right. I also told them we've just been married."

"You couldn't possibly have meant to each other."

I lightly ground her knuckles between mine. "Do you want Kazan to set off for the closest occupied village in the middle of the night to bring soldiers back here?"

She shook her head. Her fingers stayed loose, refusing to settle over the back of my hand, but she didn't fling off my grasp. When she glanced down at her lap, however, her entire body stiffened. "What am I wearing? Where are my clothes?"

"Sori dressed you in something dry."

Her face began to color and her eyes narrowed. "You better not have—"

I stood, dumping her gracelessly onto the floor before I could damn myself with a blush, and I pointed to the fire. "Get yourself warm."

She rubbed her hip and glared up at me. I was sure she was preparing a scathing lecture, but I hushed her when a door open and heavy boots entered the house. I pressed a finger to my lips and listened to the murmur of voices coming from the kitchen. When the sound of the boots grew louder, I crouched down next to Katara, resting my hands on her shoulders.

Kazan smiled as he entered. "Ah, you're awake, Hama." He placed a hand on his chest. "My name is Kazan."

"I'm pleased to meet you," she said. "And thank you, for..." she plucked at the green robe.

When Kazan took off his broad-brimmed hat, Katara tried to shirk out from under my grip, but I held her still. Kazan stepped closer to the fire and shook his hat dry. The water sizzled as it died in the flames.

"We were all very concerned for you, young lady. I'm glad you're feeling better. It's fortunate that I came along when I did. I don't think I've ever seen anyone as determined to stop a carriage as your husband, there."

Katara smiled through tight lips and blinked a couple times before canting her head to the side. "Well... that's my Tenny Bear. Always... determined to stop carriages."

I squeezed her shoulder, but she just shrugged under my warning.

"I didn't want you to get sick," I said. "I fear for your frailty."

Katara reached up, crossing her arm over her chest to rest her hand over mine. "Then it's lucky for me that you're so bullheaded." She patted my hand dotingly and then smiled as she dug her dirty fingernails into the backs of my knuckles.

I was saved from having to exact surreptitious vengeance when Sori entered, carrying a steaming pot in one hand and a stack of bowls in the other. The distinctive smell of fowl made my stomach groan.

"Was that mine or yours?" Katara asked, putting a hand to her belly.

"It doesn't matter," I said and gripped her beneath her elbows, pulling her up with me as I stood.

"It isn't much," Sori said, "But you're welcome to it." She ladled a thick broth, filled with root vegetables and chunks of meat, into small wooden bowls, setting one out in front of each chair at the table. Katara didn't need much prodding from Kazan to sit beside him. As Sori set a buttered loaf in the middle of the table, Katara plowed into her soup and a dreamy look passed over her features.

"Delicious," she said.

Warily, I sat down on the other side of Kazan and picked up a spoon. He watched me, his eyebrow arching, as he bit into a piece of bread.

.

.~***~.

.

"I'm sorry we don't have a guest room, but I've made the loft in the barn as comfortable as I could. That way, you'll at least have some privacy." Kazan winked, and I turned my face so that Katara would not see the heat flushing my cheeks. I held the oiled coat Kazan had offered me over our heads as we ran to the barn behind the house.

The loft had, indeed, been made comfortable... or extremely uncomfortable, depending on your perspective. A raised pallet had been carefully laid out, covered in what must have been the couple's best linens and a thick blanket, scattered with dried petals. At least a dozen candles had been arranged around a wooden tub. "Large enough for two," Kazan had called to my back as we departed the house.

Katara's wide-eyed gaze measured the decoration of the room. "They certainly are... accommodating."

"They've prepared a room for us to..." I gestured helplessly toward the pallet and the tub.

"Oh," she said, and then flushed scarlet. "Oh."

"They're hosting a honeymooning couple. It's a rural Fire Nation custom." Flustered, I turned away from the candles and peeled off my baked-mud shirt. Katara stared longingly at the tub. "I'll give you some privacy," I said, and Katara barked out a small laugh.

"You can't give me privacy, Zuko. We're married, on our honeymoon. Remember?" In a resigned tone, she added, "Just turn your back."

I nodded, moving to the far end of the loft, where a large bay opened to the outside. The barn's overhang protected the opening from rain, but where I knelt, I could still watch it streaking down in the distance, the dark, angry clouds illuminated by lightening every few seconds.

I closed my eyes, intending to meditate, but when I heard the soft rush of fabric against the floor, I blinked. With the second brush, a gulp stretched the apple of my throat, and I curled my hands into flat fists, pressing them against my thighs. I didn't move, but every muscle in my body was tensed, and I wondered if the absolute stillness was just as telling. When I heard the lap of water against the side of the tub, the flames on all the candles jetted upward.

There was a disheartening span of quiet as the candles died back down to their flickers.

"I'm going to pretend to ignore that."

I closed my eyes again and tightened my brow. "That's very gracious of you."

I took a breath and coughed, and Katara cleared her throat.

"What will you do?"

I shrugged. "Bathe with the same water, I guess. I can't risk you bending new in from the rain."

"No." Her sigh was filled with _moron_. The silence thickened between us for a few moments, not quite enough to shield me from the rest of her questioning, before she continued. "What will you do, you know, when you're in charge?"

"When I'm Fire Lord? Rule, I guess."

"That's it?"

It was difficult to hear her over the sound of the rain and the lightning, so I crawled backward, my gaze still firmly fixed on the storm outside the bay, until my back bumped the solid edge of the tub.

"I don't know, exactly. It's going to be a different world by the time I'm Fire Lord." Water splashed against the back of my head and dribbled down my back. "Your water's cold."

"It's not that cold."

I sighed and reached backward, lifting my arm over the side of the tub to dip my hand into the water. My fingers grazed skin just before it was jerked away. After the temperature of the water had risen several degrees, a warmer splash landed on my back and I drew my hand out. "You're welcome."

Katara was quiet for a few more minutes, and I leaned back against the tub. "You could change things," she whispered. I threw my head back and groaned.

Katara's movements rocked the water over the side of the tub, she growled, and I felt the warmth of her breath on my wet shoulder as she leaned closer. "Someday, you might be one of the most powerful men in the world, Zuko. You're going to have to start making choices. What you did for Kaichoe, you could do for the entire world."

"Build everyone a wall?" Another splash.

"Save them. You could help Aang stop the fighting. You could help bring peace."

"When my father unites the Four Nations under one rule, there will be peace."

"So you're going to just... just carry on the legacy that Sozin started? You're going to be just like him, just like your father?"

"I'm not going to—" I turned around, and she shoved a flat hand against my face. I jerked my gaze back toward the bay. "I'm not my father, Katara."

"You could have fooled me."

A cascade fell into the tub, and I realized that Katara was standing. As she arched in front of the candles that surrounded the tub, she cast her multi-shadowed form on the opposite wall of the loft—a menacing goddess with a hundred dancing curves and ghostly limbs. Another series of splashes told me she was bending herself dry. When I heard the light touch of her foot on the floor, I followed the sounds of her movement, turning to keep my back to her.

"You can look now."

Katara was dressed in the white shift again. As I pushed myself up and dusted my hands on my dirty pants, she dropped onto the foot of the pallet, pulled her knees to her chest, and wrapped her arms around her shins.

Bracing myself on the edge of the tub, I dug the toe of one boot into the heel of the other, wrenching it from my foot and then, kicked the other free as well. I grasped the top of my pants and began to slide them over my hips, pausing when she stared up at me. With the waistband still in my hands, I blinked.

"Aren't you going to turn around, now?"

Well riled, Katara was in no mood to be charitable. "You forget I was your healer for nearly a month." She hugged her own elbows and huffed. "If I see something I haven't seen before, I'll throw a copper at it."

"You don't have any money."

Katara shrugged, and I'm sure I paled, which was better than the angry heat that filled my cheeks next. I clenched my back teeth. I wasn't going to be intimidated.

"Fine," I said, "since you're so familiar with everything, this won't be a shock." I jerked my pants down, and Katara's gaze darted to the rafters. She hadn't seen everything, obviously. My pants fell into a pile around my ankles, and I stepped one foot out of them and used the other to petulantly kick them in her direction.

My gut knotted as I leaned over the tub, dipped my hand to stir the water, and breathed hot air into the currents. I could feel Katara's eyes following the lines of my body. I fought to not react, resisted the urge to run away and hide, even though I could see her from the corner of my eye, trying to look nonchalant about staring at my profile.

"You seem awfully interested for someone who's seen it all before," I accused, and she quickly turned her head away. I wasn't going to let her off that easily. "Oh, so you're not interested, then."

"I didn't say that. I mean..." Her brows pinched together. "I didn't say anything."

My voice was cold, hardened in offense. "No, you didn't."

"I just meant..." She drew a deep breath, shaky on the exhale. "It doesn't matter."

I enjoyed the frustration in her voice. It was ironic that, naked, I finally felt as though I had the upper hand. I couldn't help but goad her. "What's wrong? I thought you were my healer for a whole month."

"I—you weren't awake then."

I stepped into the tub and sat down in the water. I sighed and bent my legs so I could submerge myself up to the ears. "But you did you look at me while I was sleeping."

Nothing.

"Didn't you?"

"Parts of you," she admitted.

"And you touched me." I turned my head to face her and raised my only eyebrow, willing stoicism into my expression.

"...parts of you," she also admitted, more quietly and with a blush creeping up her neck.

"My stomach, of course, in the healing." I nodded. "Where else?"

"I'm not doing this, Zuko." Intermittent shades of red and white mottled her complexion.

I narrowed my eyes. "It wasn't professional of you to go exploring; I think you owe me a recounting." She turned her back to me. "My chest?" Her shoulders hunched. "My legs?"

"Yes! Your legs, okay?" She snarled as she turned around. "And your arms... and your shoulders..."

I shivered as I imagined her hands gliding over my limbs. I wished I had been awake for it. I listened, enraptured, to the litany she angrily recited, leaning over the edge of the tub.

"...and your neck... and your face... and your scar."

I froze. My heart pounded, my breath rasped. She had touched my scar—she had had those delicate, brown fingers on my deformity. I never let anyone touch my scar. Not since the doctors had treated it and it had healed into the mangle it was now, had anyone else's fingers brushed it.

Katara relaxed, the angry line between her eyebrows fading.

"Show me."

"What?" She sat up straight, startled, looking me squarely in the eye for the first time since I'd started this interrogation.

"Show me how you touched my scar."

"No."

"Why? You didn't seem to have a problem with it then; why should you be shy about it now?"

"You're awake now."

"And my being awake somehow makes it more hideous?"

Her lips pursed, and she clamored to her knees to kneel before me. "Fine, have it your way."

I had to tell myself to keep my eyes open when she reached for my face. I wanted to watch her; I wanted to see the revulsion the instant it broke through her haughty expression. She placed her fingertips on my nose and swept upward in wide, diverging arcs that spread across my brow. Her fingers were cool, gentle across the skin on the right side. On the left side, I felt nothing, as if her hand had vanished. But sensation returned as her fingers drifted south of the welted ruin to brush down my cheek. She tenderly traced my cheekbones, stroking outward, again, and then back down along my jaw line, which unclenched beneath her touch. My lips parted for her fingers.

"You touched my mouth?" I asked, moving against the soft tips.

She stared at me for a moment and then dropped her hands into her lap.

I slid down, dunking my head under the water and scrubbing my face to wash away the lingering feel of her fingers, but I couldn't banish it. I pushed myself back up and sat there, suddenly feeling helpless. I glanced at her, and she watched me warily as I bent farther over the edge of the tub, dripping onto her knees. I slowly reached out and wrapped my hand around her upper arm. She didn't move except to turn her head toward the open bay, but beneath her shift, her chest rose and fell erratically.

I leaned forward and then let my head descend until my brow rested on her shoulder. Water dribbled from my face and hair to soak the front of her shift and I stared down as the sheer fabric clung to her. I turned my face toward her neck, and she shuddered as I breathed. My scar was pressed under her jaw. Her skin was a balm that soothed so much more than the flaws of my flesh. For the first time in years, in ways I believed no longer possible, I didn't hurt.

But two men still resided in my soul—one held her for the sake of a heart on the verge of breaking, and the other held her captive for the glory of the Fire Nation. Both spoke of honor, but I could hear neither right now. My world was the chill of the autumn air, the insatiable heat pulsing beneath my skin, and the scent of moon flowers in the frost.

_Coward_, I heard my father's voice call me as my hand tightened on her arm. _Exile_, the Fire Lord's sentence echoed as I grazed my nose along her throat and she gasped softly. _Traitor,_ he named me—or maybe that was my own damning voice—as my resolve broke and I pressed my mouth to her skin.

"Zuko."

I lifted my head, and Katara turned to look at me. Her eyebrows dipped down over the bridge of her nose. Her bottom lip curled slightly inward, and then, her gaze darted around the loft. I took her face in my hands.

She stared into my eyes, but my mouth drew her gaze every few seconds. As she reached up and slid her fingers around my wrists, I wondered if she could feel my pulse hammering between my bones. She tightened her grip and started to pull me away.

"Zu—"

Rushing the space between us, I kissed her, wincing as she dug her nails into my skin. She held her breath and tightened her mouth until I pulled back, barely resting my bottom lip between hers. Blood thundered in my ears, blocking out everything but the short little hitches she breathed. I moved my face to counter her small, uncertain movements, never letting her break away completely. Her mouth inched backward, ducked under, feinted to the side, like a fawn caught in the open, torn between cowering where it was and darting for better cover.

Finally, I sighed and rolled my forehead against hers. She swallowed and lowered her hands from my wrists to spread her palms over my bare chest. I dipped down again to touch her lips, brushing them softly, and Katara brushed back. With just that tiny encouragement, I let go of her face, surged to my knees, and wrapped my arms around her. Her lips were compliant, molding to mine, and for the minute we were locked together, I imagined that we were in the orchard beyond the turtle duck pond or hiding behind the thick curtains of the royal gallery. I pretended this wasn't the first of several very bad ideas, but rather one of the million little moments of bliss we would build for ourselves.

She broke away to catch her breath, and as she nestled her cheek against mine, I felt the tremble in her jaw. I pressed my mouth to her temple.

"Come back with me, Katara." The growl of my voice seemed too harsh against the softness of her skin. It was not an order, this time. I was begging. Never, since the day my father had challenged me to the Agni Kai and then banished me for failing to fight him, had I shown the weakness that this girl had reduced me to. I _hated_ myself for needing her. "Come to the Fire Palace."

She went stiff again, and a moment later, I forgot how to breathe. I shoved her away from me and plunged my hands into the bathwater to reheat it, shuddering in the rising warmth. Still shaking from the shock, I flung a lingering sheet of ice out of the tub. It knocked over several candles, and I snatched the heat from their wicks, extinguishing them before my fury could feed the flames.

Katara drew the water from her shift as she scrambled to her knees. "I'm not going to let you do this, Zuko."

"Do what? I wasn't going to hurt you, Katara. Do you seriously think I could?"

"I think that's all you'll ever do." I must have looked anguished because she quickly amended. "I don't think you would mean to; you would just be who you are... or who you think you need to be, and I would just get hurt."

I let my head fall back against the edge of the tub. "You could be happy in the Fire Nation."

"No, I couldn't. It's not my home. It's not... the war and your father." She spread her fingers on either side of her head and shook her hands to punctuate the rejection. "I'll never go to the Fire Nation with you. This," she squeezed her eyes shut and gestured between us before looking up again, "whatever it is you're doing. I'm not going to let you use me to capture Aang."

She must have mistaken my disbelief for something sinister because she crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. "This must be so amusing for you."

"Hilarious." I cracked the back of my hand across the surface of the water. "Do you really think I wanted to fall—" I ground my teeth together and looked away.

"To fall, what?"

I jerked my gaze back to her. "To follow the Avatar all over the Earth Kingdom." I gestured to the ramshackle barn. "I might as well be huddling in animal skins in a freezing peasant hut."

Katara hitched up the hem of her long shift and stomped to her feet. "You don't know anything. You're just a stupid jerk."

"Am I? So you don't eat sea prunes, even though they taste like salted slugs, because if your hunters fail, you'll starve?" I turned around in the tub so I could yell at her as she stalked past me toward the pallet. "And you don't coat your rigging in blubber to keep the salt air from eating at it or marry off daughters to warriors they don't love, at sixteen?"

"Shut up!"

When she turned her back to crawl under the blankets, I climbed out of the tub. My anger was enough to dry me as I searched my duffel bag for loose pants. I watched Katara while I shoved my legs into them. Cocooned in the linens, she started shivering, lurching beneath the blankets as if she might break free and fly away.

"La! How did he expect us to sleep out here?" Her teeth chattered together.

"Comfortably," I said. "I'm a Firebender. He assumed I'd keep you warm."

"Why didn't you tell him otherwise?" she demanded as she flipped over.

I moved toward her. "You're such a child."

She scurried upright, shoving her hands out in front of her, but I sighed, shook my head, and closed the distance to the foot of the bed.

"I'm not going to let you freeze, Katara. Besides, it's not like I've never..." My gaze shifted to the side "...held you at night before." It was something of which we were both well aware—the way I had gathered her close when I dreamed—but we had never spoken of it. I was too proud and she was too aghast, apparently, to bring it up.

This was absurd. I had kissed her; she had kissed me back. She was insane. She might rather die of pneumonia than share a bed with me again, but I wasn't going to let her get sick just because she was the most frustrating, irrational person I'd ever met.

"Move over," I ordered, and when she didn't budge, I crawled in next to her, chasing her from the middle. Before she could get too far, though, I shoved an arm under her neck and wrapped the other around her waist, hugging her close and forcing her curves against my body. She was stiff, and her torso shook with tiny tremors. I regulated my breathing, letting warmth fill my breath and seep from the limbs I'd tangled with hers. Eventually, she melted into my embrace.

"Don't kick me, this time."

It only took a few minutes to realize she wouldn't seek retribution; she was still too tired to resist the lull of sleep. I closed my eyes, too, trying to ignore the way the slow rise of her chest pressed her breasts against my confining arm. Outside, the pounding of rain turned to a patter, and finally, the only sounds were Katara's even breathing and the occasional bray of an ostrich horse in the stable beneath us.

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.~***~.

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* * *

I was going to call this chapter "nakedzukoation," but I figured that would be cheating. I have to admit that I've been sitting on this one. It didn't turn out at all how I imagined it, and I wasn't sure if I should scrap it all and rewrite it. But... you guys have been patiently waiting, and I really don't have the energy to rewrite 7K+ words at present. Half of me thinks it's all wrong, the other half says I feel that way because I'm leeching frustration from Zuko.

**uffda1nat:** Thanks for reading and for the praise. You never fail to be encouraging. We know Zuko, by his very nature, is rife with internal struggle. I like revealing things about him that I assume we would have found out on the show if someone had ever really gotten to him the way Katara is in this story. The tension is rising; I'm sort of working toward a deadline now. We've got several chapters for things to spice up and then something bad will happen and Zuko will finally have to make a choice.

**Nene428:** Thanks for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed it.

**783c9v3s:** I'm not sure how to comfort your obvious frustration with the lack of sex in this fic. Does it help to reassure you that, yes, there will be a lemon, no, I won't gloss over it, and yes, it's going to be entirely epic? The sex is going to be as vital a part of the story as anything else that happens between them. But it's going to be at a place that makes sense, and it's going to happen because they _know_ each other and because they love each other and not because they were just horny and couldn't control their little bodies. But it's not coming soon. I hate to see you frustrated, but shoving them into bed right now would completely ruin everything I have planned for them…. And it would be pretty out of character for them, even if they were already a couple, in this story.

**Tonks13:** Thanks for the review!

**AnnaAza:** Ha, I didn't know there was a requisite fifth-chapter hook up. Obviously, I both go against the mold and depend on trite plot tropes. I'm not sure how much I'll use the Blue Spirit, but it was important for him to make an appearance. Ozai's continued judgment of Zuko is going to play a really big role in what Zuko finally decides to do, for good or ill. Thanks for the great review! I have not seen Harry Potter yet. I've broken my ankle, and if I want to go to a movie, I have to depend on my sister to take me, which means my sister and her kids, which means Disney only. So… I've seen Tangled. Did you watch HP? What did you think?

**smiles13:** I also like a strong Katara. I actually wasn't even all that fond of having her pass out here. But it was necessary so Zuko could dig them into a hole with his quick thinking. Now we have rushing… but then we have rushing back... so, one step forward and all that. I'm not sure what you would call their interaction now, especially since it's even more muddled. Thanks for following along!

**Kimberly T.:** I'm glad you liked that line. I had a longer piece of dialog and more explanation with it that I decided was overkill, so I'm glad the simpler dialog worked. While I was writing, I got to that part and I also wondered if Katara should save the guard, but she didn't. I think, mostly, because I remembered that this is parallel with about the same time as the Siege of the North, and she was perfectly content to leave Zuko to die in the blizzard. Her attitude toward Zuko might be different here, but she's still pretty black and white in her hatred of the Fire Nation, in general. Showing compassion for Zuko is going to get harder and harder for Katara I think. The closer she gets to him, the more she'll want to celebrate the things that trouble him… you'll see why. I noticed in this chapter that Zuko grits his teeth a lot… I'll have to do something about that. I'm not sure the Earth Kingdom has roving orthodontists. Thanks for another batch of insightful comments.

**jdeppgirl4:** Things are so angsty for Zuko right now, I'm not sure how he's going to hang on for the next chapters. It's tough to show both Ozai's and Ursa's influence in Zuko, to keep him as a symbol of the enemy for Katara but also let her sympathize with him—even if when she does, she's angry with herself afterward. Thanks for the compliment!

**senbo-sama:** It's like gigantic Baby New Year. Zuko's emotions pretty much ran rough shod over him in this chapter, so I guess that answers your pondering.

**xxZutaraFanxx:** Ha. Glad to have such an enthusiastic new reader. I also like slow Zutara. One shots and drabbles are one thing because you can infer that things happened prior to the scene to get it to that point, but in a chapter story, I think that speedy Zutara, without some kind of forcing premise, is too unbelievable. I hope the kiss wasn't too big of a forward step. The characters are the age they are in the show; it's been probably a year since Katara found Aang. I think the "maturity" is partly that I'm writing for adults, while the show was geared toward kids, so the prose is more complicated and partly that, if I'm writing an adult drama, then I figure I can go ahead and make them a little more mature—I mean, they're dealing with really mature, life-or-death, world-changing situations. And btw, you actually are going to be getting some Sokka soon… and some Aang.

**LuvinAniManga:** Sooo… now I'm not sure how much fluff that was compared to just pure frustration (which is what I thought about naming this chapter… third choice was an –ion title that meant "naked Zuko" but I couldn't find one). It was a little too heavy in some parts, but it's long and I got tired of revision. Maybe I'll tame it more in a subsequent rewrite. Thanks for the comments!

**iShoutacake:** So, some cuddling. Lots of attentive Zuko, some confusion, some irate reactions and misperceptions… That's sweet, right? Lol. Things always get out of hand with them.

**Lale-Angelica:** It's always such a compliment when someone tells you you're in character in a fanfic. I think that's one of the hardest parts about writing in someone else's universe. The more characters I bring in, the more I'm probably going to fret about characterization. But Zuko's my favorite character so he's a lot of fun for me to explore. I think there are many level to why Zuko does the stupid things he does. And this fic won't be an exception. He's still going to inexplicably screw himself over from time to time. On Taang, I think one of the reasons I'm so geared toward Zutara is that, to me, Aang is just too young to really understand a complicated romantic relationship; I'm not in a hurry to force him into one. Also, I'm big on things having reason to occur, so unless it makes sense, I'm not going to introduce any pity Taang. Finally, I'm not even sure yet how I'm going to get Toph into this story… I might just slip her in there and hope you guys don't notice. :P

**Lariren-Shadow:** To me, the Blue Spirit represents Zuko's suppressed sense of right and wrong. For so long, "Zuko" is pretty much a machine, striving only for what his father wants him to do. He's a tool. But it's through the Blue Spirit that Zuko explores his morality—saving Aang, stealing food, freeing Appa… it's an interesting duality. And I like levels. That's why I wrote that line about being a prince from Katara's POV. I wanted you to decide what that meant to you. Because you're right. It does work on all those different levels. Zuko holds onto hope really tightly. He chases Aang forever, even after he becomes a fugitive. He still holds out hope, knowing his father sent her after him, that he'll get to go home…. He's sort of dense about the thing he desperately wants to believe in. That's why this dreamworld thing is fun for me.

**marcella karma eater:** yeah, I figure she's better now. Sleep, food, making out… just what the doctor ordered.

**nova:** I'm actually writing in first person for the practice in the viewpoint. I'm normally write in third, but I wanted to work on conveying the full scene and showing the other characters well without overstepping the viewpoint. Thanks for commenting.

**ThunderRoses:** I'm glad you liked the chapter and found it sweet. I'm not sure what you'll have thought of this one… sweet? Violent? Anyway, thanks for the R&R!

**Miss . Hood:** Thanks for reading and commenting!

**janedoe401: **My two favorite lines of dialog from that chapter. It's easy to feel sorry for Zuko from where we're sitting… especially from where I'm sitting, since I know what I'm planning to do to him. Katara is harsh, but keep in mind, Zuko is still the enemy and he hasn't deviated from his nefarious plot as far as Katara is concerned.

**Anexya:** Glad to have you on board! I have a little game with myself to see how many clichés I can stuff in here. One that I'm not going to do, though, is pregnancy. No babies, yet. There just isn't time. It's hard to "write" anime. While all those goofy expressions and the exaggerations and antics were hilarious in the show, I just don't think they translate well to a romantic narrative. We'll have a little of it when Sokka arrives on the scene, but the humor will still be mostly mature, I think. Happy reading! And thanks!

**KatsPaws1294:** Yeah, poor tired Katara. If I were her, I'd pass out more often.

**beastlySmalless:** Oh, Happy late Birthday! *blows a horn* And here is your New Year's gift! Shoot, I keep trying to not end on Cliff Hangers. This one didn't end on a cliff hanger…. I don't think. I'd say I don't have a lot of others with cliff hanger endings, but I never really know until the chapter is written. Things happen I wasn't actually planning. Anyway, I'll try to keep an even balance; it'll be interesting since I'm also going to be constantly tipping the scales and spinning them around.

**Daantje:** More, as ordered. Thanks for commenting!

**SacredWritings:** I guess I should read more capture fic. I think I've read two and this is a lot like those two. Lol. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**Marin the Sailor:** I hope lightening up the mood was a good thing. Things are pretty serious in this chapter, so I'm not sure sarcasm would have done much. I label this as their first, go-to-bed-angry, really big fight.

**Afictionado:** Cool name. I like the play on words. Always happy to get reviews from new readers. Hope you stick around.

**Echo Uchiha:** Wow. Thanks for reviewing every chapter. Glad you liked it enough to read them all. Oh and I know what a lemon is (now, anyway).

**Zutara-red-rose:** Kailigh, thanks for such a grand compliment! I'm sure there are tons of stories better than mine, but I'm thrilled you think so highly of it.

**xxBeautiful Tragedyxx:** Thanks! I'll agree that the story is ridiculous, but I accept the compliment that it's awesome. When I'm getting into the romance, especially like stuff in this chapter, I worry about being in character. Since there's no romance to speak of between them in the show, there's nothing to draw from for perspective. We can't know what it might have been like, sadly, so I'm never sure I'm getting it right.

**SarahE7191:** And… there are things worse than Zhao. Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

I hope I included everyone. I also want to thank everyone who put the story on alert and added it to their favorites. This fic is on more than 300 alerts now and has been favorite 225 times. It's also been added to 3 Communities. All that makes me squeee.


	18. Complication

Chapter Eighteen – Complication

KATARA

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**.~***~.**

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Zuko was finally asleep.

Never mind that the sun had been up for almost an hour.

Never mind that mocking finches were industriously chirping as they bathed in puddles beyond the barn's bay and that pickens were grunting and squawking in the yard.

Never mind that I was puttering around the loft, casting resentful glances at the pallet.

The bed had been warm, and I had slept soundly enough—at least when Zuko hadn't been restless, rousing me several times during the night with a shift of his hips or a tortured sigh. And I wasn't even going to think about what might have been pressing against the back of my thigh when I had woken up this morning.

He grumbled unintelligibly, still wrapped around the space I had wiggled free of the moment I'd noticed the weight of his legs scissored between mine. The blanket hugged his hips, revealing the lean curve of his side where it arched into his broad upper back. Skin that had looked alabaster in the gray of pre-dawn had warmed to peachy cream beneath seven light freckles.

I planted my toes against the back of his shoulder and shoved him a couple of times. He growled, folding into his chest and wallowing deeper into the bedding.

"Get up, Zuko. It's morning." I put my foot to his shoulder, again. "Firebenders love the mornings."

I gave him another shove, but Zuko shifted with the movement, taking me off balance. My knee dug into his torso as I pitched forward, and I landed in a heap at his side. I rolled onto my back as he grunted, and when he pushed up on his elbow, I eyed the hand clutching his ribs.

"That's your own fault."

He anchored his hand on my other side, and I shrank into the pallet. With his brow folded heavily over his red-rimmed eyes, he blinked down at me.

"I didn't sleep well."

The warmth he'd left in the blanket seeped into my back. I swallowed, and his bleary gaze flicked to my throat before jerking up again.

"Well... that's your own fault, too."

A yawn quivered just behind his jaw, but he held it back to take a slow, even breath, releasing it in a half scoff as he sat up. I scrambled out of his reach, stepping away from the pallet and smoothing down my shift. He looked around, brow furrowed. After a sigh that finally did turn into a yawn, he scrubbed his hands over his face, stumbled out of the pallet, and walked toward the bay opening.

A low beam braced the rafters at the far end of the loft, and Zuko hooked his hands over the top of it to lazily arch out over the edge. The pitched roof framed him in the sunlight, and he paused there, swaying slightly. While Zuko tilted his face into the morning glow, I pulled my hair over my shoulder, separating the strands into three parts.

He canted his head toward me and opened one eye. "Do you know how many days it's been since I've seen the sun?"

I lifted my eyebrows and started plaiting my hair into a thick rope. "I haven't seen the moon."

"We've been pickling in your element for almost a week."

I clenched my fingers around my braid. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm willing to set you on fire."

Zuko ignored my petulance, closed his eyes, and dramatically expanded his ribcage. He let the breath out slowly, released the beam, and sank into a familiar stance. As he flowed from pose to pose, the muscles of his back and arms tightened and small lights formed in his hands. The fires grew bolder, arcing from palm to palm, forming a path around him as he turned and kicked.

Dry heat filled the loft, reminding me of the warmth I had unwittingly sidled up to the day before in Hanoki, of the way Zuko's sculpted chest had felt beneath my palms and his annoyingly familiar scent had hung so heavily in the humidity of the pavilion. Pain built against the back of my scalp.

"La!" I flung the strangled braid over my shoulder as I retreated from the bay opening. "Put a shirt on." I looked back in time to see him turn from his bending, eyebrow arched and mouth twisted. The flames vanished and he crossed back toward the pallet, picking up his dirty, gray tunic on the way.

"Not that one."

He dropped it and reached for his duffel bag.

"That one, either."

He flung his hands up as he spun toward me. "What then? That's all I have."

I pointed to a stack of gold and green fabric lying atop a bail of oat grass. "While you were waiting for breakfast in bed, Sori brought us some clothes."

Zuko narrowed his eyes, studying the coarse weave as though he could count the threads all the way from where he stood. Then, he bent and scooped up his duffel bag, anyway. I stormed over to him and snatched the edge of it.

Zuko pulled back against my hold. "Let go."

"You're the one who said we can't be a Waterbender and a Fire Prince anymore." I planted my feet and jerked the bag to my chest. "If you go around wearing bright red silk and gold embroidery, we might as well wrap you in a flag and address you to the Fire Palace."

Zuko clutched, I yanked, the duffel bag see-sawed back and forth, and then he opened his hands. I stumbled backward, and the leather strap popped up and slapped me in the face. I sputtered and threw the bag down. Zuko watched me, fists clenched at his sides, and I raked him with a glare.

"You look ridiculous. Go wet your hair. It's sticking up all over the place."

Even Zuko's scarred eye widened. He ran a hand through his shaggy mop, but then both eyes narrowed down to a scowl. Before I could move out of reach, he grabbed my elbow. I barely had time to shove my other arm between our chests before he pulled me to him. Bending heat still radiated from his skin, his fingers were unyielding behind my tricep, and the cut of his musculature strained against my forearm as he took a breath.

"I'm not your brother, and I'm not some child Airbender."

"So?" I struggled backward, bracing one hand against him while I tried to wrench my other arm free of his grip.

"So last night wasn't an invitation to start henpecking me."

I lifted my eyebrows, daring him to admit what it had been an invitation for. He held my stare for a few moments, but then his gaze slid to the side and he thrust me away from him.

"Forget it." He blew out a hot breath and turned around a few times. Muttering to himself, he crossed the loft toward the bowl I had already filled with water.

While he washed, I hastily tugged the new robe over my shift. I wanted to get away from here. Sori and Kazan were pleasant and generous hosts, but spending this time with an inter-nation couple and pretending to be married had confused everything. I was confident all would make sense when we were back on the road.

Impatient with Zuko's idleness, I unfolded the stack of clothes. Holding the green robe by the shoulders, I gave it a crisp snap to pop out the wrinkles. When I turned around, Zuko was standing just inches away, face washed and hair tamed into a slightly less shaggy mess.

I took a step backward and offered up the robe. "I'm going to make you wear a bell." He just stared at the robe, so I gave it a shake. "Put it on. I want to get going."

He scrunched up one side of his nose but turned his back to me, anyway, and let me slide the sleeves onto his arms. "I didn't know you were so enthusiastic about my mission."

"I'm not." I settled the robe over his shoulders and spun him around. "I just want to get back to Aang and Sokka so I can watch Aang whip you senseless when you try to catch him."

"You might be slightly overconfident."

I took a firm hold of his lapels and jerked the robe straight; Zuko stumbled forward a step. "I've seen you fight. I had you beat in Kaichoe."

He snorted. "You're insane if you thought I wasn't holding back in Kaichoe."

As I pulled one side of the robe tightly over his torso, I choked back the retort that I'd been holding back, too; I didn't want to feed his delusions. Besides, let him face Aang thinking he had the upper hand. The sooner he figured out none of his schemes were going to work, the sooner someone could talk sense into him.

"Look, I just want to be finished with all this," I said as I pulled the loose side of the robe across the other. "Let's repay our stay and get out of here. It's not that I don't like them, it's just... They're going to figure things out. It's better if we keep moving. I mean, I don't really care whether they catch you, but I have things to do, bending to learn, Avatars to... wash and mend for."

When I glanced up, Zuko was looking over my head, his expression impassive but for the tiny line between one brow and where the other should have been. His entire posture had gone rigid. I looked down at the ends of the belt loosely cradled in my fingers. His hands made jerky plays for the strip of fabric, falling away before touching it, only to lift again. What was his problem? People dressed the precious prince all the time—or at least they had, up until the day of his exile...

_Oh._

I slowed in my movements, and I felt Zuko shift as he realized that I now realized what I was doing. Without saying anything, I finished knotting his belt. My gaze lurched across the front of his robes, but I could tell when he glanced down, watching me while I dusted my hands across his shoulders and gave his sleeves a crisp tug. When I looked up, he looked away, a faint blush creeping up the front of his neck.

He took a breath to speak, but held it in. I stepped away and tapped the tips of my fingers together. For a few seconds, I looked anywhere but at him, and then I shook off the tension, set myself in motion, and began stripping the linens from the pallet. He gathered the clothes we'd littered around the loft, and with so little in our combined possession, we quickly packed everything into the duffel bag.

When we stepped out into the yard, Kazan greeted us. In one hand, he held a pail of grain, in the other, a bowl of rice, which he handed to Zuko.

"Eat quickly," he said. "The hippocows wait for no man."

He clapped Zuko on the back, the force tearing him from my side and propelling him toward the pens. As Kazan prodded him forward, he scuffed his feet, glancing back over his shoulder at me. I resisted the urge to trail after him; instead, I lifted the hem of my robe and dodged the lingering puddles as I crossed the swampy yard to the house.

A light, cheery tune drifted in from the kitchen, and I followed the humming through the open door to find Sori hunched over a mixing bowl, sloshing flour. She wiped the back of her wrist across her temple, painting a powdery white streak through the side of her hair.

"Would you like to help me get some bread into the oven?" She pointed with her chin toward a sideboard, where another bowl sat, covered with a dish towel. "There's an extra apron, there, next to the bowl."

"Okay."

I slipped the apron over my head and tied it around my waist. The ceramic was warm under my fingers as I brought the heavy bowl to the kitchen table and stripped off the towel. I doubled up my fist and punched the center of the rising dough ball. I pretended it was Zuko's ego, and I was profoundly satisfied by the way it slowly deflated into a formless lump, which I dumped out onto a spot already dusted with flour.

My hands worked awkwardly, a caricature of the way Sori deftly kneaded the dough while she bubbled through the morning with advice. She was very helpful—or she would have been if I actually had any intention of setting up house in the Earth Kingdom. When I had finished making rolls out of my portion of dough, Sori handed the rest off to me and began cleaning vegetables. Halfway through a lecture about how to tell when melons were ripe and which ones were irresistible to Firebenders, she paused.

"A scar like that must be difficult to look on every day."

"Yeah, it's pretty bad." A scuffing sound drew my attention to the doorway behind me, but I must have imagined the flash of green next to the doorjamb. There was nothing there when I shook my head and turned back to Sori.

I separated out a fistful of dough and began pinching it down into a mushroom. "The longer I'm with him, the less I see it. The scar is something he has, but it's not who he is. I'm not sure he thinks of it that way."

Sori nodded. "I can tell he's a very sensitive young man."

Something plopped against my foot, and I looked down to watch my dough ball, which had fallen from my slackened fingers, roll off the top of my slipper. I stooped to scrape the dough off the floor, lingering to hide beneath the edge of the table. Zuko was loud, belligerent, and brooding. He was obnoxious, arrogant, and pretentious. I could think of a thousand other insults that fit him perfectly... but _sensitive_?

I gave it a moment of thought, recalling the events of the last few weeks. Zuko _was_ desperate to win his father's approval. He was clearly upset by the reaction of the people in Kaichoe. And he was obviously still angry about the way I had played my part in... well, whatever last night had been.

I stood and clumped my dough to one side of the table away from the clean rolls I had already formed. With a grudging nod, I pinched off another ball. "I guess he is sensitive about some things." I worked in silence for a while as I wondered what in the world I was going to do with a sensitive Fire Prince... besides traipse all over the Earth Kingdom with him, pretending to be married while he hunted my best friend.

My carefully crafted roll oozed through my clenched fingers, and I gave Sori a narrow-eyed glare. "Why did you do it? Why did you… I mean, how could you even..."

Sori's eyebrows lifted. "How could I marry a Firebender?" By the calm way she looked up at me, I decided it was a question she'd had to answer many times. "Oh, I suppose he was strong and dashing enough." She lined up several stalks of celery next to one another on a bamboo board and began rocking a large knife across their ribs. "But I guess, in the end, it was his eyes."

I frowned. I had thought Sori a wise woman, capable and practical. I was disappointed that she would sacrifice her loyalty to the Earth Kingdom for something so vain and greedy as a pair of golden eyes. "Really, his eyes?"

She nodded. "I saw how weary they were, how tired he was of the fighting. I saw someone who needed to be loved, and I couldn't help becoming that person." She gave me a small, secretive smile—the kind you reserve for co-conspirators—as she raked the celery off the board into a basket. "That's the way of them, you know. It only takes that little spark, and before you know it—whoosh!"

Her arms shot up above her head, flour sprinkling down from her sleeves. She winked as her hands came back to the table, and she picked up several carrots, gesturing with them as she talked. "We're just so much dry moss and kindling." She shrugged at the revelation. "I suspect you'll get that figured out before too long."

"Oh." I shook my head. "Oh, no. Ours is a marriage of convenience. That's all." But my cheeks warmed as my mind roved dangerously close to recalling the pressure of Zuko's mouth across my neck.

Sori pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side. "Yes. I suppose it would be very convenient to discover you actually _care_ for the man you've married." She gave me a minute to process that and then companionably asked, "Why did _you_ marry a Firebender?"

Frowning, I added the last of my rolls to the baking pan. "I don't know."

When Sori turned to seal the pan in the brick oven, I wiped my hands, pulled the apron over my head, and left the house to search for Zuko. I found him at the top of a rise in a cut field east of the house. He turned fiery spirals as he burned off the ragged remains of the fall harvest. At the edge of the field, out of the fire's reach, Kazan supervised. I stood beside him.

"Is this what he's been doing all morning?"

"No. We worked on the fence some... at first." He turned toward me, looking beyond my profile, and I followed his gaze to a fence row, its poles and planks misaligned in a crooked path it would probably take him a week to fix.

I crossed my arms over my chest and pursed my mouth. "He's definitely better suited for destroying."

Kazan nodded. "It's where his experience lies. But that is true of anyone who has not been taught to do other things." He turned toward me then, and I waited while he paused, taking obvious care in choosing his words. "He might not have the practice of mending fences, but he tried very hard. Someday, given time, given _support_, he might well surprise you." Kazan's gaze shifted back to Zuko and his tone held a desperate, hopeful note. "Someday, he might surprise us all."

Nothing Zuko did would ever surprise me. Still, I watched him closely when, half an hour later, Kazan finally called him away from his task. The glare he shot me as he shook ash from his robes wasn't especially out of character, nor was the sudden lowering of his gaze and the way he avoided eye contact during the walk back to the house.

In the kitchen, we gathered around the small table on which Sori and I had made bread. She had wiped away the errant flour and set the table with chipped, mismatched crockery surrounding a large bowl of rice and a platter of steamed vegetables. Zuko, his disposition already heated from his work, immediately helped himself to the food, shoveling it into his bowl in brooding silence. Shocking.

Kazan stared at Zuko and with his voice low and deliberate, said, "Thank you for lunch, Sori. It looks wonderful."

Several moments of answering quiet prompted Zuko to look up from his bowl. He paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. He looked from Kazan to Sori, and then, apparently realizing his mistake, dropped the food back into his bowl, laid his utensils aside, and folded his hands in his lap. He gave Sori a grunted affirmation and a half nod.

I wanted to tell them it was the best they were going to get, but Sori took it amiably, as if he'd lavished her with praise, and began bustling rice into Kazan's bowl. Zuko had the sense to wait until everyone had been served and the Spirits had been thanked before he started eating again, though tentatively this time.

Kazan placed his hands on either side of his bowl. "I went into town this morning—"

A flurry of rice fell across the table, raining down in sticky clumps in front of Zuko. He blinked, readjusted his crossed chopsticks, and reached forward to herd the escaped rice back into his bowl.

"—for supplies," Kazan finished with a frown and turned to Sori. "I wasn't able to get as much salt as you wanted. Joru said the ship from Meeho wasn't as well stocked as it usually is."

"I wonder why."

Kazan shrugged. "He said the goods had to be sacrificed for provisions being shipped to Sonhai. There's a lot of buzz about it in town. Someone important is coming in from Capital City. Royalty, supposedly. They say entire beds of lilies were brought in from every city within fifty miles."

I looked to Zuko, but he was staring down into his bowl. He was still, except for the slight shake of the hand that clenched his chopsticks. The color seemed to wash from his skin when he looked up at Kazan, but the glint in his eyes burned brightly. "_Blood..._ lilies?"

"A lucky guess?" Kazan's penetrating stare forced Zuko's back to his bowl, but Zuko had lost interest in the food. He silently fidgeted through the rest of the mundane conversation going on around him, and when Kazan finished his meal and pushed back his chair, Zuko abandoned his lunch to announce our departure.

After a heartfelt goodbye from Sori, I was relieved when Kazan offered us a ride to the main road, where he said we could probably find a trade caravan to carry us to the next city. The roads were still a mire, and I climbed down into deep wagon tread, almost losing my slippers to the clinging mud. I protested as Zuko grappled me into a one-armed hug and slogged across the rest of the road, lugging me onto the spongy grass. Kazan followed, and when we were standing at the side of the road, he swung a large pack from his back. It was overfull, and a light jingle caught my ears. He thrust the pack in our direction, and my eyes widened.

"Oh, we couldn't." I said, even as I eyed the pack with covetous intent.

"Consider it a wedding gift."

I recalled the old table and the chipped plates and bowls. "It's too much. We can't repay you." But I was already making plans for the leafy cabbage I could see peaking out the top, and Kazan was insistent.

"When you're in the position to help others, remember this kindness done to you by new friends. That will be recompense enough."

The corner of Zuko's scarred eye began to twitch, and, fearing his authority might rear its regal head, I quickly stepped forward and hugged the pack.

"Thank you. We'll put it to good use." I awkwardly bowed as I backed into place beside Zuko.

We made our farewells—Kazan cryptic, Zuko as terse and unappreciative as ever—and then, Kazan ascended the carriage and turned the team back toward home. The thought made me wistful as I caught Zuko's scowl from the corner of my eye.

"Okay, spit it out."

"We don't need it."

"We need food. We need gear. We need coin." I missed the days when all I had to do was point to Aang and villagers would shovel a week's worth of provisions into Appa's saddle. "When you're living your privileged life back in the Fire Palace, you can look down all you want on other people's charity. Right now, we're beggars." Because pointing to Zuko would get me absolutely nowhere.

"I'm not a beggar."

"Fine. I'll be the beggar. You can be the completely independent, self-sufficient traveler who eats the beggar's food."

I flung the pack against him, and he doubled over, grabbing at it before it could fall to the ground. He shrugged off the lighter duffel bag and handed it to me. While I looped the strap over my head and shoulder, he shrugged our 'wedding present' onto his back. He stumbled when I grabbed the trailing straps ends and whirled him around so I could dig through the front pocket. The weight of the little coin purse was a comfort as I tucked it inside my robes.

"Why do you get to carry the money?"

"Because you'll dump the entire pouch in front of the first shop keeper who threatens to turn us over to the Fire Nation."

He opened his mouth but then closed it again. Instead of retorting with a lie, he just huffed angrily through his nose and started walking.

I stared at the treasure trove bobbing up and down with Zuko's gait as I followed him down the side of the road. "I wonder what kind of thank you note I have to write for that."

"What are you talking about?"

"The wedding gift. I'm assuming they'll want a thank you note. You know, _thanks for the supplies you gave us in honor of our sham marriage. While my abductor was, as always, completely ungrateful, I really appreciate the cabbage?_"

Zuko gripped the pack straps and shifted his shoulders. "That's not funny."

"It's a little funny." The corners of my mouth curled, and I picked up my pace, coming up alongside him and turning to walk backward so I could see him, or rather, so he could see me. "We should probably invite them to Zuko Junior's first birthday party."

"Stop it." He stalked past me, again, gracefully edging the line of grass without sinking into the muddy tracks.

I trudged to a halt, grinning. "Do you think they'll want to be godparents?" When Zuko stuck his fingers in his ears, I lifted my voice, practically shouting on the deserted road. "I mean, for all they know, they did provide the venue for the—"

"Enough!" He stopped and turned around. "This isn't a joke."

I smoothed a few tendrils of unruly hair back into my braid. "You're a lot of fun today."

Zuko took a few more steps down the road and then stopped, again. He stood with his back to me, his shoulders hunched forward, and he sighed. "He knew."

"Knew what?"

"Who I am."

"You're being paranoid."

He turned around, eyes narrowed. "You're being dense."

I pursed my mouth. "Well, did he say he knew?"

Zuko looked down as he balanced on one boot, scraping the muddied heel of the other against a clump of grass. "He was trying to warn me."

"About what?" As if we didn't have enough going against us.

"My sister." He looked up, but his gaze was far away, as though he were watching something in another place and time, altogether. I didn't like the shadow that crossed his eyes or the way his mouth tightened when he said, "The Blood Lilies... they were always her favorite."

.

.~***~.

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I want to give a huge thank you to all you guys who waited patiently for this update. Life happens, and as it happened, it was pretty hellish these last several months. Things are getting better, and updates will be faster. I appreciated the occasional prompt to update because it showed that you guys were genuinely interested in the story and missed it when it wasn't getting updated. I also appreciated that no one got excessive in complaining about the lack of updates because it showed respect for what's going on in my personal life and a willingness to let me do what I have to do. And I can't tell you how much the well wishes via PM and reviews and the shoulders to cry on and such meant to me while all this was going on. I really have the best readers on .

First things first... or second… anyway, there's a video I want you to watch. It's a trailer one of the awesome readers made for this fic. (And yes, fallfromgrace3, heza08 is ridiculously thrilled with it.) I watch it all the time and I still freak out every time I see it. I've never had fan stuff made of my fan stuff. *sniffs and wipes a tear* My abject apologies to the creator for taking so long to update with this chapter and thus, pimp the vid. Check my profile page for the youtube link.

Now, to answer reviews. Thanks so much for reading and taking the time to comment on what you read. All the comments, even the nitpicky ones, help me become a better writer and storyteller.

**Echo Uchiha** – Thanks for the first review of the chapter!

**Kimberly T.** – I'm glad you liked the previous chapter. In this chapter, I hope you can tell that Sori and Kazan sensed the tension between Zuko and Katara and tried to help in their own way. I just couldn't imagine Zuko being suave in any of what he did with Katara. From here on out, I think Katara's is going to be pretty adamant about making Zuko climb out of the enemy box altogether. Mostly, I think Zuko's not quite sure what to believe anymore—his father's propaganda or Katara's dream of a better world. I think your comment about Toph is funny, given that she wouldn't actually SEE anything at a strip show… of course, considering how she views the world, you could argue that she's getting strip shows all the time, anyway.

**AnnaAza **– yeah, that scene was full of Zutara clichés, but I felt like they worked out okay. It's way too early for sex, yes, given how irritated Katara was in this recent scene just for having let herself give in to the kiss. I'd hate to see how angry she'd have been if they went any further. There will be some later, though, albeit, much later. It's important that he picked the name Hama. I finally saw HP only recently. I enjoyed it pretty well and now I'm primed to watch the second part this summer.

**Reverie Wilde** – It was a New Year's kiss for you. I knew I was coming on some really busy times, so I wanted to at least get up the chapter I had pretty much finished before things went south. I really wish I could have been writing and posting this whole time, but life just didn't pan out that way. I think that Katara is pretty sure Zuko could be trying harder. She's not really aware of just how engrained these ideas he has are.

**bexr91** – childishness vs. maturity is a hard line to walk in fics like these, I think. On the one hand, as an adult writer, writing for mostly a more mature audience, you have start allowing for some growing up. They're making life or death decisions in very adult situations, so you have to give them some credit. At the same time, they're really just kids. There are going to be events they're naturally going to screw up because they lack the experience. Thanks for reading!

**.** – Such a grand compliment. Thank you so much! It's really nice for a writer to hear that their characters are natural and that even the boring parts don't feel boring. And, especially for Zutara, it's a great relief to know you think this could have actually happened (since most opponents of the ship have vast arguments for why it could never realistically happen). Thanks for reading and commenting with such a lovely review!

**amythist7** – Thank you for your kind words. I really hope to keep the integrity of their relationship intact, even failing all else. I might inadvertently rush a scene or a plot point or a victory, but I'm really focusing on not rushing the feelings. Aang and Sokka are going to come into things again. I have a whole story arc where Zuko is with the Gaang. Fear not.

**uffda1nat** – Thanks for the review, and thanks for all the encouragement you've given me offline during this really hard time. I appreciate it. There were moments in writing that awkward Zuko scene where I questioned whether I was going to disappoint anyone with his fumbling. There are so many fics that write him as really, really competent when it comes to these things, but for me, his utter FAIL at dealing with girls is part of his charm. I do take a lot of joy from writing this story; I also take a lot of joy (and trepidation, to be honest) from knowing what else is planned for the story.

**SG-Phantom** – I can never get enough of readers telling me they enjoy the story. Thanks for reviewing. In withholding the lemony bits, I don't want anyone to get the idea that I'm shying away from it. I post all my lemons over at on an LJ community, but it really does matter, in this story, exactly where they show up. I appreciate your patience and trust in the delivery. I couldn't imagine Zuko being calm about a breast—any breast… but especially since it was Katara. So many layers of awkward there. People have been pointing out the pitfalls of the first-person POV to me as I go along, so I'm trying hard to not get Sue-ish or POV-character focused with it. I was surprised that some people actually hate first, so I'm glad that it's working out for you.

**Sassan** – Sometimes I just have to write the chapters that move the plot forward and save the romance stuff or the high action or a different chapter. I don't want it to feel like a comic; then again, I certainly don't want it to get boring. The new year did not, unfortunately, give me any time for writing… or much of anything else beyond taking care of my dad, but it looks like Summer is going to be a little more generous to me. Cross your fingers for me. I can understand people wanting updates. I was devastated when I figured out No Map Without Water wasn't going to be updated again.

**ThunderRoses** – of course I would leave you waiting. I'll warn you now. There's going to be a lot of emotional development and a few more pretty physical scenes, but nothing irreversible until after Zuko's proven himself to Katara. I just don't see this fic plot (or this Katara) working any other way. Thanks for the review. Sorry I had to make you wait for the update.

**Heartagram-VilleZuko** – I think you've reviewed (at least something of mine) in the past. I remember your name from somewhere. But thanks for taking the time to review, all the same. I'm glad you liked all the little moments in the previous chapter. What happened next was angst and annoyance, obviously. Happy Late New Year to you, too.

**Ella Palladino** – I'm glad you liked all of Zuko's conflicting emotions and thought the scene was introspective yet tense. Katara might be feeling a little lust for Zuko, but for Zuko, no matter how he tries to deny it to himself, it's much more than that. Katara's feelings are going to have to catch up to Zuko's and they'll both have to overcome their issue about it.

**LuvinAniManga** – I'm glad you enjoyed the previous chapter. I hope this one wasn't too anti-fluff. We'll have to deal with the fifteen steps backward before I can get to appropriate levels of fluff again. I'll try to slip some in here and there, though. I was happy with the chapter, even though it didn't turn out the way I thought it would. Reading back after a few months, I can see why it went off in the direction it did. But chapters do surprise you sometimes.

**strawberryshortcake-12** – Thanks for reading and reviewing. I hope you enjoyed the rest of the fic. Let me try to reassure you: this story will not take a turn for the worst that there's no coming back from. At times, Zuko will be stupid. At times, Katara will be stupid. There's a learning curve, but neither will ever be unredeemable. The story will have a happy ending, but there will be casualties. It won't be completely unexpected, but sometimes, there are people you just can't save. That's all I'll say about it, except to add that I don't think you'll walk away from this fic sad at the end. There is a weird time discrepancy involved in how long I'm taking with this fic. You read it all in one night, so yeah, things probably felt rushed to you. Others have been waiting more than a year for the first kiss, so it seemed to take forever. That's just the oddity with posting a chapter at a time, you have to take into account the readers you have and the readers you might get, the perceived timeline's different for them. After it's all said and done, I'm going to go back through and adjust things for reading in one sitting, maybe add a few new chapters to show a realistic passage of time.

**LifeOnCrack** – Thanks so much for the wonderful praise. I'll be the first to admit that capture fic is cliché, but that's what I think is fun about it—trying to put a new spin on an overdone classic. I'm not sure, at this point, Katara's still a captive. I guess she is, but it's sort of by choice. I've thought about trying to hammer out more explanation on the dream sequence, but I've decided I'm just going to let that particular plot point play out (I'm not done with it) and see if resolving it clears up any confusion. But do let me know if it never comes together for you. I might need to go back in the revision and flesh it out better. I'm glad the action flows for you—that's my number one goal, keep the reader engaged in what's going on in the story, let them feel the emotion and tension of it. So thanks for letting me know it worked out.

**xxZutaraFanxx** – lol, ever the enthusiast. Thanks for bringing such excitement to your reviews. I'm going to have to try really hard not to make Zuko awkward, fumbling, and babbling in every tense scene seeing as this version of him was so well received. You're right, he is just a 17-year-old kid, learning about girls, figuring out what he wants, making mistakes. I want to show that beneath it all, he's very human. Re: NakedChickenGame, it's weird but I think the more annoyed and angry they get with each other, the more intimate and comfortable they'll be. There's something about fighting with someone and coming out the other side that builds bonds. If you can overcome your biggest obstacle (yourselves), then nothing else can break you down.

**kisamari** – Thanks for reading and reviewing. I love knowing that new people have found the fic. I also like my pron with plot… most of the time. I'm not totally averse to the lemony one-shot. I know where the fic is going, there are specific events and a problem that has to be overcome (aside for the hooking up issues), but I'm not sure whether I'm conveying an actual plot question. I think this chapter comes closer to showing plot, though. You're just getting hints of it, the same way Zuko and Katara are… maybe that's for the best.

**wolfiegirl83** – Thanks for reading and reviewing the fic!

**qiroxursox** – thanks for reading. Glad the zutaraness was good for you. Appreciated the review.

**bandgeek4life4281** – It's true. No one can get themselves in prime position to get what they want and then screw it all to hell the way Zuko can. Even when he's trying really hard, he's so awful sometimes. It's what makes you hurt for him. Thanks for reviewing!

**X** – Thanks for the kind review. You've heaped a lot of praise on me and I'm humbled that you think so highly of the story and its writer. I've gotten a few grumbles about rushing through time lapses—the week they were together on the ship, the chase through the Earth Kingdom coast… and I will go back and try to work some of those things out. What I'll most likely end up doing is taking out that drabblish section (I'll probably move it to a one-shot or deleted scenes fic so you'll still have it accessible) and writing proper chapters for what happened during the time. It was lazy of me… artsy, but lazy. I really doubt, though, that I'll do another version of this fic. It's going to be such an emotional investment, I don't think I could do it twice. Besides, I've got three other big fics sitting at the back of my head, wanting screen time.

**Jay** – Thanks for reading and taking the time to review the chapters you liked. I'm glad to have you as a reader.

**Hitenisababe** – Thanks you! Reiterated what I said to someone else, I don't know if it's because there's just so much fic that does it that I've subconsciously read in that there's some expectation in the Zutara community for Zuko to be good at handling this stuff… or whether it really exists, or just exists in some subset of the community. But I agree that he'd freak out. Yeah, if you started a fic with them calming sitting down together, laying it all out, and discussing the issues logically, Chapter 2 would be their wedding… alas. I've gotten a lot of opinions recently about Zutara being difficult to do realistically because Zuko and Katara, as they are, just can't come together on it with any success. And I think you point to one of those personality issues right here. It's a big roadblock to happy coupling and will take a while to track around.

**smiles13** – "…Just because brains starts with "b" dosnt mean boys have them." No offense to boys, but hahaha. That's cute.

**janedoe401** – thank you. I'm glad that you sense the raw emotion that Zuko is going through. I've got plans to really ratchet that up. Someone mentioned previously that they could tell Zuko was my favorite, and I've got to admit that I really enjoy writing his chapters. It's so engrossing to be in his head because it's such a strange and relatively unexplored place. Round about the time Zuko just accepts his situation and pays whatever penance he has to, Katara will start to experience some of the raw pain of being pulled in two directions.

**boothandbones4ever** – I love Booth and Bones! Thanks for reading and taking the time to let me know you enjoyed the fic so far.

**jaimielynn25** – thanks for writing a review for this fic. I'm glad you like it.

**Untilthemoonrises** – Thanks for reading and reviewing. The fluff will be spaced out, but there's more to come.

**iShoutacake** – Ah, perfect with extra Ts. Haha. Glad you liked it ;)

**SimpleJoy** – hatred is a difficult thing to overcome, even when you're in control of the story and can make the characters do whatever you want. I would say that Katara hates more than Zuko. Zuko is arrogant, but in all honesty, he just doesn't know any better at this point. Let me build out the rest of this story, then I'll get to work fluffing up the front end. Thanks for reading and reviewing.

**FenixDorado** – Thanks so much for saying so! I appreciate the feedback.

**CuriosityKilledTheSquirrel** – Thank you so much for the praise on my prose. I'm glad you've enjoyed reading along.

**Lina-sama1** – I might be wrong, but I think that's the first time anyone's wished me luck in a review, as if you somehow know how daunting the rest of this story looks to me. Lol. Sometimes, when I hit a good chapter, I totally feel like I got lucky, like I rolled the dice and they fell out of the cup with the proper plot points and dialog and order of events… sometimes, not so lucky.

**Like A Dove** – Haha, you dreamed about it. I sometimes dream about it, but I'm writing it… so I have an excuse. But that's a great compliment. Thank you. I hate the ponytail hair. I was really glad when I got a chance to give him his sexy S3 hair, even if I cheated a little. It's much easier to imagine the fluff scenes now… it's also easier for him to blend in. Several people have mentioned something along the lines of "I don't read capture fic, but…" I'm considering revising my summary—though I don't have any idea what I'd say in it. Btw, it's good to see you've been so busy with your own fic lately, and with good reception. Congratulations.

**strawbrymlkchan** – I'll go ahead and admit that capture fic is my guilty pleasure. People say it's horrid, and some of it really is… but so is a lot of fic, in general, so I don't fault capture fic. But there's just something about Zuko being in charge that lights a fire under you, you know? But enough of that. This isn't that kind of fic. I'm glad I gave you a good introduction to capture fic; I hope in the meantime you were able to whet your appetite on some of the really good Zutara capture fic that's out there. Thanks for reviewing.

**Anonymous Reviewer** – I really wish I could call you by name because that was a really nice comment you left. I'm glad you feel like you're there with the characters. Thanks for R&Ring.

**byrrca** – I love Zuko too. Btw, you're getting a pretty good list of Faves together, it looks like. There are some on there I haven't actually gotten around to reading yet. I'm totally stoked to be among some of the names on there.

**beastlySmalless** – I'm wondering if anyone else was confused by the image there with the kiss and the bath tub. I've gotten some ideas on how to clear up some of the confusion you pointed out in your critique, but if it's more than just not knowing whether she's right up against the tub (an easy fix), then I should consider reworking the entire description. Thoughts? Anyway, I'm glad that despite that confusion, you got a lot out of the chapter. Thanks for reading and for bringing the hiccup to my attention. (And thanks for the well wishes on my ankle. It's healed up nicely. Still a little sore sometimes, but for the most part, I just forget about it unless I get myself into a situation where I'm not sure of my footing. But it's nice to be fully mobile again.)

**Aelibia** – Awh, thanks for calling it my "craft." I also like to call in my craft; it makes me feel more author-y. And I do care a lot about the fic and my writing in general. I'm using fic to practice, so I want to practice good form and get things right, learn what doesn't work and what does… but at the same time, I really care about Katara and Zuko in this fic, and I really want you to feel the things I want you to feel about their situation, and sometimes I think that requires a certain choice of words. I'd love to take up a hermitic writer's lifestyle, but there's a good reason why I can't—I'm pretty sure they'd charge me an arm and a leg to run internet service to my cave. Take up a collection and I'll consider giving up civilization. ;) Btw, I think you might be one of the only readers to note the reference to Zutara children… at least, no one else has mentioned it yet. Now whether that was a spirit dream, like Zuko's, or just her own wishful subconscious remains to be seen. ;)

**moonspirityingyang** – Yes, Zuko's hair started growing out during his coma, and right after his duel with Zhao, when his ponytail got singed, Iroh shaved his head for him while he was unconscious. So, I guess you can thank Iroh. Iroh is often the foil for Zutara, so I'm assuming he just somehow knew things would go more smoothly without the ponytail. Dancing dragon… ironic in more ways than one. Thanks for your patience with the eventual lemon. Their relationship, such as it is, is so tentative that you can't rock the boat too much (but if the boats a'rockin…). Slow and steady right? Thanks for the review and for being excited about the fic. Sokka will come back. He'll be prominent… lots of good Sokka moments.

**MissYuna** – thanks for the fave and for subscribing to the story. I appreciate the review!

**Additional Anonymous Reader** – Yeah, sorry for the delay. Real life blows; I wish I could write fic all the time, but it is what it is.

**sillynditzy** – I'm still alive! Sorry. Updates are going to come more reliably—I hope. Cross your fingers that nothing life altering derails me again.

**ShoeNinja** – Thank you for the thank you! Your praise is graciously received. It means a lot to hear those things from a conscientious reader. I don't want to mislead you, though, I will eventually get to the dangly bits, but when I do, I hope it doesn't come off as gratuitous. With Zuko, as far as internal thoughts vs. dialog go, the tough part is keeping in mind that I have to separate the two. The guy's got thoughts—you can see his mind working all the time in the show, and he's constantly emo about all the problems and conflicting emotions he's got… he just doesn't talk about it. So, I have to remind myself where he's going to think something but not say it. As far as him saying what he did to Katara—no, it was just something he said in the moment, and he chastises himself for it later on.

**KatsPaws1294** – thanks for the enthusiasm. I hope you managed to catch your breath eventually. Congratulations, btw, on the continued success of your fic.

**pillowwolfpup** – thanks for reading and taking the time to write a favorable review!

**zukoisabeast1** – I really do have to change my summary; apparently, I'm not conveying the heart of the fic on there. I really like it when readers call out their favorite lines. It's helpful to me as a writer. And thanks so much for the heartfelt, second review. I PMed you my thoughts on it, but I want to add that I'd actually be interested in knowing which parts, specifically you skip and which you reread.

**yesi** – I'm curious about why you had doubts during the first part. Was it the pacing, the poor quality of the prose, the fact that it was a capture fic? I might be able to address some of the failings in revision if I can figure out what all isn't doing its job. But I'm glad that by the end of the posted chapters, you were feeling better about it. Thanks for reviewing.

**AvidReader4EVR** – I can definitely guarantee that this will be slow Zutara. I'm glad that's your cup of tea because you're just going to have to settle in and wait for it. You all might hate me by the time this is over. And yeah, sorry for the wait. Just couldn't be helped. I'm hoping life is more conducive to writing these days.

**Bananaswirlbabay** – boy, not caring what happens next really takes the pressure off. Thanks so much for your review. I'm trying really hard to make the development of their relationship seem realistic. I'm also trying to make the plot seem realistic, which is sort of difficult doing everything from just the two points or view. I considered adding in other points of view, but then reconsidered it. I'll just have to work with what I have and hope it makes sense.

**singerofthefaythhymn** – So… you liked it…? I'm assuming your syntactically complicated review was you making a point, so point taken. I'll be the first to admit that up until about Chapter 10 (where my beta beat it out of me), my prose bled purple, and that's something I'm working to correct. The confusion people mentioned in their reviews of chapter 7 was a huge FAIL on my part. I tried to do something, it didn't work out, and as a result, Zuko is out of character for that brief moment. I'll work it out during my revision. There are a lot of questionable places that need to be revised, but revision will take time. I had to choose between using what little time I have to do revisions of already posted chapters and trying to update and finish out the story, which I think is the fairest option for those who have been sticking so faithfully with me on it. It bugs me to have glaring issues still out there, but I can only juggle so much of my time. Besides, it will be easier to revise the whole thing all at once, knowing where all the pieces are. The next fic I put up, I'll finish offline and put up in its entirety so I don't have the same issue. Thanks, whole-heartedly, for the critiques and also for the praise you sprinkled in there.

**Catiecakes09** – I don't get tired about being urged to write more… I just feel guilty when I can't manage it. I'm glad you found the story interesting so far, and thanks for the review.

**Ai-chiii** – I'm glad you found that last chapter exciting. Thanks for saying so in a review.

**Harumaki** – Yeah, my prose can be really heavy at times, and that's not always a good thing. I hope it got lighter as you kept reading. Thank you so much for such a thought-out and inspirational review. You make me want to do a better job at keeping up with writing the chapters, and it's rewarding to know when readers see the kind of depth in the characters and the situations that I'm trying to write into them. Hope you stick around to read the rest of it.

**Aelyna326** – Glad to have you back. Hope you manage to catch this update. Thanks for reading and for leaving a review.

**DecemberSnowfall** – yeah, the forced to the bed thing was sort of one of those token moments. I like to take token moments that you see in most of the capture fic and give them different context and motivations. There was nothing sexual about that scene for Zuko. He was making a point as captor to captive, prince to peasant. If he had even thought "boy to girl," I'm sure he would have freaked out instead. This chapter had a touch of that forcefulness again, but I'm not sure whether it was too slight to be noticed or too heavy handed to work… ha. Thanks for reading and for letting me know what you think of the fic.

**Absentminded** – Thanks for the review Eleanor. I hope you got the homework done. I love sarcastic Katara. Sometimes, I think I might take it too far with her, but it entertains me a lot.

**Naflower05** – Thanks for the review! Sorry for the wait. I hope the next updates meet expectations.

**MiraiMangaka** – I wish Katara could have bloodbended a few other things in my life, and then the fic would have been updated sooner. But here it is, and I hope the next chapter will follow along relatively shortly. Thanks for the good, if threatening review. ;)

**forever2yours** – thanks for reviewing the fic. Yeah, that's the biggest tragedy in the delay of posting new chapters. Readers wander off and it's hard to get back the enthusiasm you had for a fic that you feel became defunct. But what can you do? Cancer beats fic. Hopefully (say a little prayer for me), the cancer is almost handled (three more weeks, in which I'm not solely responsible for caregiving), and the fic can take center stage again.

**dark namy** – Thanks for the praise. It still floors me when people say they're fans. (I haz fanz. *shakes head*.) It's really awesome that people read my fic and that they're so good about posting enthusiastic, supportive reviews. It really makes my year (in year that, otherwise, didn't have a lot going for it).

**Nadiaxo14** – Warms my heart to hear it. Thanks for reviewing!

– Here's to continuation. Hope you're still around to read it. Thanks for reviewing.

**MoonChild419** – Thanks for that great bit of praise. I appreciate the support for the fic.

**Shrilaraune** – Patience is a virtue, though it's hard to not speed things up when I want to get to the "good parts." It's also hard because I know how much crap I'm going to put them through, and sometimes I just want to mercifully let them be together… but this isn't the fic for easy endings. Thanks for your review.

**MadGirl03** – Thanks for reading and reviewing. Tension is tough to keep up, but I'm committed to it on several levels for these two.

**kn4sakura** – Thanks for the review. Glad you like the story. Updates will be coming along on a more regular schedule.

**NickyJay137** – You're lucky, you got Chapter 18 pretty fast. Welcome to the story, and thanks for the review. Hope to see you around.

… whew.


	19. Misimpression

_Last time on More than the Price of Honor…. _

With the realization that Zuko would never give up his pursuit of Aang, Katara fled his ship and worked her way through the Earth Kingdom to village of Kaicho. There, Zuko picked up her trail and confronted her in the village square in the middle of a terrible downpour. Weakened by the excessive rain, the bluff into which the village temple had been built began to collapse in a giant mudslide that threatened to engulf the entire village. Distracted from their own fight, Zuko helped Katara save Kaicho in exchange for her promise to cooperate with him on their resumed journey to meet Iroh, whom Zuko sent ahead to deliver a message to the Avatar.

In Hanoki, an occupied town on the brink of starvation, they learned that Ozai had rescinded Zuko's letter of credit and that the Fire Nation soldiers had been instructed to detain both him and Iroh. Sneaking away from Hanoki, the pair encountered a group of camped Fire Nation soldiers. Acting as the Blue Spirit, Zuko freed a barge of food taken from Hanoki, which floated downstream, distracting the soldiers; however, Zuko was still forced to battle and defeat one of them.

Katara, weakened from malnutrition and the cold, collapsed on the road, causing Zuko to stop a passing carriage. The owner turned out to be a former Fire Nation lieutenant who, after Zuko claimed he and Katara were a married couple named Lu Ten and Hama, took them home to stay with him and his Earth Kingdom wife, Sori. Zuko discovered that Kazan served under Iroh at the Siege of Ba Sing Se, but Kazan seemed to sympathize with Iroh's lack of determination in conquering the city after his son was killed. Zuko and Katara were given the barn loft to bathe and sleep in. After a frustrating and spirited argument about the war, they had close moment in which Zuko kissed Katara. She kissed him back, but when he pushed things too far, she froze his bath water.

The next morning, with the constant storm finally having broken, they continued to bicker. They helped Sori and Kazan with chores in exchange for their stay, and Sori discussed the merits of marrying Firebenders with Katara, revealing that Kazan had tired of the war before his retirement. When Zuko learned over lunch that Azula was on her way to the Earth Kingdom, he announced their hasty departure. Hospitable as ever, Kazan and Sori outfitted them with supplies and sent them in the direction of a trade route where they could likely find transportation to the next town.

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Chapter Nineteen – Misimpression

ZUKO

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"Watch it!"

An apple bounced off my shoulder and rolled a few feet from the wild grove. Another twig snapped overhead, and I jerked my head back to dodge a second apple that plummeted from the branch above.

Katara ground the ball of her foot into my collarbone. "Be still. You're going to make me fall."

"Stop throwing them like that." I tightened my grip around her ankles to keep her from stamping her footprint all over my bones. "I hate bruised fruit."

Her sigh built to a frustrated growl before she shouted down at me. "I'm so sorry no one's here to pick through your food and make sure it's all pristine before it's presented to you."

The urge to dig my fingers into the back of her calves was nearly overwhelming. As fatigue seared through my shoulder blades, I tried to shift my stance without toppling her. "It would be faster if I just blasted them down."

"I don't want you to roast them. Bending doesn't solve everything."

"You're one to talk. Remind me why we're sharing a bowl now. Oh, right, because _someone _was Waterbending the dishes and got creative." Her legs stiffened, the sudden change in posture forcing me to shift again.

"It was one bowl, and that was completely different. Besides, if you're so worried I'll break something else, you can wash your own dishes from now on."

"Fine. You—" My brazen glare funneled straight up her poorly tucked shift, and I jerked my gaze back to the ground. "You can build your own campfire. Have fun freezing and eating raw tubers."

One of her knobby heels drove into the side of my neck, and with a huffed curse, I swiftly stepped to the side. Her scream cut short as she toppled into my arms, but the moment she started breathing again, she pounded her sharp-knuckled fists against my sternum. I curled away, dropping her back onto her feet, and gingerly rubbed the bruising bone while she staggered a few feet away. I barely recovered in time to snatch the red projectile sailing toward me.

"You could have snapped my neck!" She stooped to scoop up more ammunition.

"Don't tempt me."

When she lobbed the second apple, I met it with a spurt of flame. It exploded midway, splattering us both with steaming applesauce. Sticky and angry, I slicked my hand down my opposite arm and flung the goo to the ground. "You insufferable—"

A cold wave slammed into my side. It washed around me like a cyclone, lifting away apple chunks, and then splashed back into a nearby stream, leaving me swaying in its wake. Now _dripping _and angry, I glared at her while she calmly bent the water from her hair and robe.

"Thanks." I vented my fury with a blast that ate the moisture from my clothing and likely left my hair sticking out in a million directions.

We were bending with utter abandon again. The first day of travel, Katara's muddied slippers had been lead on her feet, so she had scraped them clean with a razor's edge of water. Later, we had needed a fire for the night, so I had lit a cautious flame beneath the kindling. She had arched the gush of an overburdened stream so we could cross beneath it; I had burned through a wall of felled limbs that slowed our march. She hadn't wanted to walk in the puddles; I had needed to burn my initials into a tree. Four days of moving inland, trekking through a mire of sodden underbrush and downed greenery, had eroded our discretion to thin guilt.

Not that anyone would see us so deep in the forest. Katara had nagged me nearly deaf after I had decided we wouldn't take the trade route. Uncle had a sizeable lead, and I couldn't make him wait, especially with Azula creeping around. Straight through the interior of the Earth Kingdom was faster—not necessarily cleaner or easier, but concessions had to be made.

Katara didn't care about meeting up with Uncle, though, and she didn't fear my sister's prowling. She had other priorities, which included dry roads and towns with markets and _not having to walk across the entire Earth Kingdom_. She went on and on about the Avatar's mangy bison and how amazing it was to fly all over the Four Nations, and she glared at me every chance she got, as though I enjoyed her torment—as if I wouldn't give my left testicle to sleep at an inn, on a real bed, where food I hadn't had to pick or catch or clean or cook would be brought to me at a summons.

She threw her braid back over her shoulder and looked up into the tree. "We're going to need more apples."

My dirty nails bit into my palms as I clenched my fists at my sides and ground my teeth together. "Feel free to start climbing, then." I gestured upward as I turned my back to her. "I'm done being your step ladder."

A sharp intake of breath heralded what was sure to be another scathing lecture, but the sound abruptly died. I looked over my shoulder. Her face was turned toward the next hill, her eyes were narrowed, and she was focusing on something beyond the rise with all the still attention of a firehawk. And then I heard it, too.

The rumble, so deep I thought I could feel it thrumming against the soles of my boots, gradually petered out, and an odd creaking took its place. The belligerent bray of an ostrich horse suddenly split the serenity of the forest, and birds abandoned their roosts overhead, scattering in a flurry of green and black wings. Other sounds joined in—men shouting, more braying, and the ding and clang of a large party of travelers.

Katara climbed up the embankment, and I snaked along behind her, grabbing the back of her slipper and halting her in mid step. Gracing me with an exasperated look, she crouched down at my urging. Moldering remains of summer violets squished beneath my forearms as I crawled up beside her and looked down onto a road. It was filled from one bend to the other with wagons, the lead of which had been bogged down in a particularly deep rut.

Two men labored at the front of the team, pulling on the halters and urging the birds forward. The wagon teetered and groaned as the wheel rocked back and forth, never quite breaching the edge of the rut and sinking farther into the mud each time it sagged back down. Behind them, the rest of the caravan jarred to a halt. It was a motley assortment of rustic farm wagons, worn carriages, tarp-covered merchant carts, and garishly painted gypsy coaches, all stacked up nearly on top of one another. Drivers stood, shading their eyes as they looked ahead. Animals stamped and squawked. Children leaped from the wagon beds, sending crated pickens into feather-shedding panics as they darted between vehicles, evading the grasps of their mothers.

Through the frenzy of sudden activity and the bright colors of the wagons and clothes, I could still see the wear of the road in the chipped paint and tattered hems. Dejection laced the voices of the drivers as they passed information about the delay. Exhaustion dogged the steps of the women lumbering after children too long pent up in tight spaces. And everywhere were wary looks for the surrounding hills, eyes darting toward the crash of limbs finally giving way to gravity after the storm, and hands casually resting on readied but insufficient weapons.

Refugees.

"This is going to delay us." I flipped over and dug through the pack until I found the map Kazan had stowed in one of the side pockets. "There has to be another path around them." I opened the map, folded back the loose corners with one hand, and traced the lines of the roads with the other. "Here, a valley to the east. That should get us through without being seen."

I turned, expecting Katara's inquisitive eyes to be studying the map over my shoulder, but the space next to me was empty. I scrambled onto my stomach just in time to watch her slide down the other side of the gravely hill. Looking innocuous in Sori's green robe, she waved to the lead wagoner.

"Ka—"

There was no use ordering her back, and there was no use lingering behind this hill. I didn't like to think she would just leave me if I didn't follow her down—for reasons I wasn't sure made any sense, I wanted to trust her—and yet, she had already betrayed me once with her escape. We both knew the longer we traveled, the closer we got to my confrontation with the Avatar, and I couldn't fathom that my faith in her promise could ever be as important to her as protecting her precious savior. I watched in sullen anonymity as she chatted with the drivers and a woman who appeared out of the back of the wagon, carrying a bawling infant.

Katara knelt next to the muddied ruts, then gestured in an upheaving motion and made a broad sweep back toward the caravan. One of the wagoners shook his head. There weren't any Earth Benders among them. Giving them a slow nod, Katara stood and shoved the sleeves of her robe over her elbows. I shook myself out of an observing stupor and raced down the hillside, stumbling over rocks and skidding through the loose dirt. Halfway down the hill, I jumped, landing smoothly on the roadway and, just as Katara's movements shifted into the fluid grace with which I'd become intimately familiar, I clamped my hand down on her arm.

"Get your hands off me." I recognized the annoyance in her tone and expression as she jerked out of my grip, but the drivers apparently mistook her. They rose up to their full heights, which I suppose they thought should cow a teenage boy. I stepped back, preparing to defend myself, but then a voice from the center of the crowd shouted Katara's name, filling me with panic.

I quickly assessed the numbers in the caravan. Even with their pitch forks and hunting bows, I could burn through them if I had to. I could deal with whoever had recognized Katara, grab her, throw up a wall of fire behind us, and run. But they were still just farmers and merchants… and there were so many women and children crowding around the wagons, now.

Part dismay, part accusation, the voice continued to order its way through the forming crowd as the owner pushed to the front, and a tall, lanky young man emerged from a cluster of refugees. He walked with a slouch and an almost bored expression, but his jaw flexed as he clenched a piece of straw between his teeth. I expected to see Katara's elation, the hope of rescue brightening her features, but her expression was a storm cloud of fury. The stance I'd jerked her out of was automatically taken up again.

"Jet! What are you doing here?"

I was too surprised to see that indemnity directed at anyone other than me to do much but stand to the side as they faced off. Oddly bolstered that I might not be her _least_ favorite person in the world, I had to wonder why this guy warranted a more livid greeting than I usually got.

"We're taking these people to Ba Sing Se."

Katara's gaze quickly scanned the nearby crowd. A few people stood out to me, different from the others—A big guy with a kid on his shoulder, a shaggy-haired boy... girl… boy… with a painted face, and a tall, lean fellow who lifted his bow to Katara in greeting.

Jet reached to his back and freed two hook swords. It wasn't the sharpness of the blades or their obviously cared-for condition so much as the practiced ease with which he held them that finally made me step in front of Katara.

His gaze jerked down to my hand, my fingers tensed as I prepared to unsheathe my dao swords, but then, he used one of his blades to point out the scorch marks on the lead wagon. "No one's safe from the Fire Nation these days."

I stumbled forward a step as Katara crashed into my back, her fist jutting up under my arm to threaten him. She hooked her chin over my shoulder, and her breath was hot on my neck.

"No one's safe from the _Fire Nation_? Ha! Do these people know what you'll do if they get between you and your revenge?"

The wagoners shifted, subtly moving toward Jet's side of the brewing altercation. She was going to start something we didn't have time for, so I locked my arm to my side, trapping her elbow. While she started up an angry sputter, I turned my head so our noses almost touched. "Whatever it is, we'll deal with it later."

She glared at me, then at Jet and the wagoners. Her arm went limp for a second, but then she shoved her other hand against the back of my shoulder and tried to pry herself loose. I let go, and she stumbled backward, seething as she righted her robe. "Just don't let your guard down with any of them."

During Katara's struggle, Jet had plopped down onto a dry patch next to the road. He lazily gazed up at her as he plucked a few tuffs of grass and scattered the blades.

"What are you looking at?" she said.

He gestured toward the stalled wagon and the muddied ruts. For all his laid-back posture, his voice was tense and derisive. "Just waiting for you to do what you do best—save everyone. Civilians... soldiers. Earth Kingdom… Fire Nation. Good… evil." With the last comment, he glanced up at me, eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?"

Katara wheeled around to stare at me, as though the fact I was crown Prince of the Fire Nation, standing in a swell of refugees fleeing soldiers from my own country, had only just occurred to her.

"His name is Lu Ten," she said, and I willed my eyebrow not to lift.

It was the perfect chance for her to escape—here, in the midst of several dozen people who would all be out for my blood if she revealed me. What angle was she playing in protecting me? As Jet scrutinized me, I considered him. He wasn't a bender; surely Katara could take him. It couldn't be her fear of an old adversary that bound her to her promise. Jet causally looked away, swiveling his gaze to Katara again.

"Where're Aang and Sokka?"

"We got separated. Not that it's any of your business."

He shrugged and turned to the wagoners, and I cringed when he announced, "She's a Waterbender. She can have the road dried out in seconds."

Jet met Katara's glare with sleepy, innocent eyes. I knew full well it's what she'd planned to do anyway, but now that Jet shared the idea, she wanted to be stubborn about it. What did it matter, now? She looked to me for mediation, and I lifted my hands in surrender.

"Do whatever you want."

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The road was crisscrossed with ruts, and the wagons wobbled and creaked as the ostrich horses dragged them along. The animal I was leading fumbled forward with as much dignity as you'd expect from a giant, flightless bird; a proper eel hound would have barely noticed the uneven terrain. I pretended to study the ground, picking my way over the gouges and jagged peaks, but in truth, I was hiding. I didn't want to call attention to my scar but, specifically, I didn't want anyone staring too long at my eyes. Even as I trudged alongside the animals with my gaze cast down, I felt the gold glowing like a beacon, announcing my heritage to anyone who might think too hard about it. Luckily, the refugees were too weary to pay much attention to so small a detail, and Jet had snaked back into the crowd as quickly as he'd struck the first time before Katara had dried up the road.

Even though the sky had been clear for a week, water still stood in the deeper trenches, and every few miles, Katara bent dry some morass of soggy road the wagons would have been trapped in. At first, she had walked along between the lead wagons to better spot trouble—which had included not only our own way but that of every stranded traveler we came upon, enabling Katara's charity to delay us more than I would have thought possible. The farther south we traveled, though, the drier the roads became, and now, the puddles were patchy and shallow, and Katara had retired to the bed of the open wagon ahead me.

She sat in the back, deftly working her fingers through the long, dark hair of a little girl sitting in her lap. As soon as she had bound the strands into a tidy braid and secured it with a green ribbon, another girl shoved in against the first. The children had flocked to Katara, who seemed annoyingly adept at all things caregiver—it was probably part and parcel to her talent as a healer. I imagined her, bent over her task, that stubborn twist to her lips that marked her concentration. I could still feel her fingers ghosting around my scar, and I let that memory drift lower on my skin, down my neck to my chest and all the other parts of my body she had claimed to have handled during my healing. When she caught me watching her, she frowned and turned her back on me.

The sun sat low in the western sky as we rounded a bend overlooking a meadow. Tall grass rolled gently toward a depression between mild hills, and the lead wagoner—whose name, I learned, was Jarun—announced that the caravan would stop and make camp for the night.

Katara began crawling over the sideboard, her foot reaching blindly for the spokes of the wagon wheel, but I held back. I didn't want a repeat of our first encounter with the caravan. What she didn't have a problem with was letting a different green-robed guy take her elbow and guide her down from the wagon bed. When he turned away from her with an insipid grin, I let him look me in the eye for as long as he could stand.

Katara caught up to Jarun and followed him out into the small valley, pronouncing it dry enough to camp. The rest of us led our beasts off the road, circling the wagons into two rings, one inside the other, before unhitching the animals. Well… I at least _watched_ the driver as he unhitched the one I'd walked beside all day.

Jet and his crew emerged from wherever they'd been skulking, Jet announced they'd scout the area, and the entire troupe set off toward the hills. I was tired from walking, and it wasn't technically my job, but it rankled to let others secure the camp and mostly likely, secure it poorly. I slapped the ostrich horse on the neck for his company—a reasonable companion for the day, seeing as we held the same propensity for small talk—and followed Jet into the deepening shadows of the surrounding hill country.

The hills gave way to the same trees and shrubs Katara and I had trekked through the last few days. With a quick sprint toward the crest of a tall rise, I leaped toward one of the trees, snagged a low-hanging branch, and swung myself into the thick, autumn foliage. Crouching low as I crept along the branch, I watched the area below, looking for signs that anyone had passed this way recently.

"You're making noise."

On an overhead branch, Jet squatted like a frog, a hook sword in each hand crossed over the limb where he leaned forward on his fists.

"No, I'm not."

The straw in his mouth twitched. "Now you are."

He gave me a wink before suddenly dropping down onto my branch and running straight for me. An instant before he would be on top of me, I ducked down to take his feet out from under him, but my shoulder met air. I spun around to watch him sail overhead, and when the arc of his jump leveled out, he snagged another branch with one of his hooks, throwing himself toward the next tree to sink the other hook into a farther limb. A monkey bird had never looked so deadly.

I growled and ran after him. When the branch grew too thin to support my weight, I used its spring to pitch myself toward the next tree. It would have been easier if I could have propelled myself with a flame, but I still managed to grab the next branch and let my momentum swing me up onto another limb. As I ran the length of that one, too, I could see Jet three trees ahead of me. He was clearly at home in the forest, and by the time I reached the last place I'd seen him, he had disappeared.

I grabbed the branch above mine for balance and let my gaze arc around me, searching the limbs I could see through the turning leaves. The scent of decay rose up in musty spirals from the carpet of the forest floor. Birds that had scattered while Jet and I were careening through the trees began to settle back into their roosts. A cool wind whipped my hair. When Jet's head popped down out of the canopy, I nearly fell.

Hanging upside down with his knees draped over an upper branch, he watched as I scrambled for my footing. The tip of his hook sword dug in against the lower limb, pushing him slowly back and forth. "What's your problem?" he asked. "This is a scouting mission. You weren't invited."

"I'm here because I don't trust anyone Katara could manage to hate." I pointedly ignored the irony in that statement.

His gaze roamed my form, and I recognized the assessment. He looked back the way we'd come, judging the distance I'd managed to keep up with him, I supposed. The straw between his lips bent slightly as he clenched his teeth.

"Let's just say Katara and I have a history."

I snorted lightly. "Whatever history the two of you have is nothing in comparison."

One side of his mouth curled around the grass. "I doubt that."

Before I could incriminate myself in Who's the Older Enemy, Jet sheathed his swords, put his hands to his mouth, and gave a warbling bird call. It was repeated three times from separate quadrants. "I think the area's clear. You can go back and tend the ostrich horses, now." He unhinged his knees and tumbled out of his perch into a graceful freefall, landing with a soft crunch beneath the tree.

I knelt, still glued to the branch while Jet stood under me, his head cocked as we both listened to muted footfalls coming from two different directions. Facepaint and the Bowman melted out of the tree line, and the three of them fell into step together, loping up a deer path Jet had picked out of the shrubbery. Farther up the path, the Big Guy and his Helmeted Parrot joined them as they headed back toward the wagons.

I waited until they had been swallowed up by the foliage before I dropped out of the tree and tracked along after them. Before my exile, I had never been a scout, but during the past three years I had learned a lot about how to follow someone. Logistically, it was pointless—I knew he was headed to camp—but I decided it wouldn't hurt to know what his passing looked like, to be able to recognize the scuff his boots made, the notch of his hooks on an errant branch, or the twist of a stem that meant he'd stolen a fresh piece of grass from the trail. Someday, it might be good to know where he was going… or where he had been.

By the time I arrived back at the camp, the animals had been unharnessed and left to graze, hobbled in a soft stretch of tall, yellow grass between the circled wagons and the hills we'd just scouted. I wound my way through the flock, past the first perimeter of wagons. Men and older boys were drawing logs and flat rocks around small dugouts where kindling had been piled and lit. The small fires dotted the outer circle every few yards.

As I meandered the circumference of the camp in search of Katara, I offered a terse nod to everyone I met, including Jet's crew. My impatience edged toward apprehension as I made another circuit and she didn't appear, and it toppled over into full-blown anxiety when I suddenly realized I hadn't seen Jet, either. I crept through the darkened slips between the wagons, making my way toward the very center of camp where the cook fires had been lit. When an annoyingly smooth voice cut through the crackle of charring logs, I paused in the shadow of covered wagon, just short of the fire's glow, and held my tongue.

"Katara, can I talk to you? Alone?"

A large pot bubbled in front of her, and she continued to stir it without looking up. When Jet took a few more steps in her direction, she briskly handed her spoon to another woman, wiped her hands off on an apron, and moved away from the fire. While the dismissive ire that rolled off her in crushing waves was unnervingly familiar, at least she had never pretended indifference with me. Any sympathy I felt for Jet quickly evaporated, though, when he hooked her by the elbow and spun her back around to face him.

"Please?" As she blinked up at him, his perfectly arched brows—both of them—folded down toward the long bridge of his nose. His fingers tightened around the sleeve of her robe as he drew her closer, steadily narrowing the span of firelight that separated them. One of my feet lurched forward, and I wrapped my hand around the splintered spoke of a wagon wheel to anchor myself in the darkness. Katara's wide eyes and flared nostrils reminded me that she wasn't the one in danger.

She hadn't even jerked away from me that first night in my cabin as forcefully as she now wrenched herself out of Jet's grip. She half turned, giving herself room to build up momentum for her first strike—so much for soup, tonight—but when her gaze fell on me, glaring out at her from between the wagons, I shook my head. Pointed hesitation jarred her movements, but she eventually curled her twitching fingers into fists at her sides, which was all for the best—at least until her head tilted a fraction and her scowl elongated into the neat little smile I'd discovered was the herald of particularly devious vengeance.

She ratted me out of the shadows with a gesture as she casually turned back to Jet, acting the very model of civility. "I'm sure it wouldn't be right to be alone with you, now. I'm a married woman, after all." I followed her out of the shadows but stumbled when I pieced together her words a couple of seconds too late.

Jet's mouth dropped open, his yellowed stalk of grass dangling precariously as he gaped at us. "You're married? To _him_?" It would have been a good time look smug, but just now, I was busy staring at the hand Katara had demandingly stretched back toward me and trying to corral the sinking feeling in my stomach.

"Yes. And whatever you have to say, you can say it to both of us." Her hand, still extended backward, jerked insistently.

My chest tightened, and I had to tell my rising ego that I wasn't _really_ privy to all of Katara's secrets. She didn't _actually_ consider us a package deal or even allies beyond the lies we'd had to tell to get this far through the Earth Kingdom.

It wasn't hard to sound menacing as I stepped into the firelight and took her hand. "What's going on, here?" I held Jet's glare as he closed his mouth. The stalk of grass flicked back and forth like the tail of an agitated cat owl.

"Nothing," he said. "I just needed to tell Katara something."

"No one's stopping you." As I moved behind her, I slid my palms over the backs of her hands, my fingers lacing through hers to pin them at her sides. She leaned into me slightly, not quite letting me support her, but enough that sudden movement would unbalance her. She faked trust really well. It was amazing how, for Kazan—when it had been _my_ fault we'd had to play house—she'd been hostile and reluctant, but for Jet, she had no problem melting into me.

Jet took a step toward us, and I wrapped our joined arms across Katara's stomach in case I had to hold her back. As I pulled her closer, Jet stopped, stared at me for a minute, and then focused on Katara as if I wasn't even there.

"Look, I just wanted to apologize for what happened. I was wrong. I get that. I'm sorry I tricked you."

"You didn't just trick us, Jet, you—"

"I know. But that's not who I am anymore. You really helped me see that, Katara, and it's because of you I realized I had to change. I need you to forgive me…. I just hope one day, I can actually forgive myself." When Katara didn't answer him, he rocked back on his heels and cleared his throat. "That's all I had to say. We might be traveling together a while. I just wanted to clear the air."

Jet gave her an imploring look—his stupid brown eyes all round and doleful—then nodded curtly to me as he passed us, heading back toward the outer ring of wagons. Katara sighed and, without Jet to play strong for, sagged against me.

"You don't really buy that."

She shrugged in my embrace. "I'm not sure I believe him, but I'd like to think he can change, that he's really sorry for what he did. Aang would say—"

I clenched her fingers. "It's all firecakes and butterflies for you people, isn't it? You and your brother and the Avatar, just flying from town to town, weaving flower garlands for everyone." I still remembered how the Avatar had saved me after I had broken him free of Zhao's fortress, how he had implied if not for the war, we might have been friends. I knew exactly what her pacifist monk would say about Jet's contrition.

"That's not all we do… Aang only made me one flower necklace. And you know what? It was to replace the one _you_ stole." She tried to turn around, but I held her tightly. I wasn't going to let her make this an argument about semantics.

"Katara, people don't change. They're born, they become who they are, and that's just how it is."

After a few seconds of silence, she asked in a small voice, "You really don't think people can change?"

I bowed my head to rest my chin on her shoulder, and a chill spread from the back of my neck down through my arms. "No. I don't." I tilted my face slightly so I could feel her hair brush my cheek. "You need to accept that."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then you're going to be disappointed and…." I closed my eyes. "I don't want you to get hurt."

She tilted her head closer, touching her temple to mine. "If you don't want me to get hurt—"

"Don't." I rocked my temple against hers. "Saying it won't change anything."

I don't know how long I held her, trapped there next to the fire. I only knew that I didn't want to leave that spot. Something was going to change between us with that admission. I wanted her to understand; I wanted her to stop having childish faith that everything would eventually work out for the best. At the same time, though, I couldn't stand the idea that she might give up on me—because as long as she was still trying, I could delude myself into believing that, somewhere, that other world still existed.

Dinner was intolerable. The road-weary refugees huddled elbow-to-elbow over their bowls and apparently thought nothing of conscripting me into their desperate company, forcing me to retreat from the communal log to a solitary perch on one of the flat rocks. My new seat gave me a clear view of Jet on the other side of the fire—one of a half-dozen identical fires he and his goons could have chosen to sit at. His jaw sawed back and forth as he rolled his stalk between his teeth, and between distracted half nods to his cronies, he stole glances at Katara. I suppose she sensed an audience because she invaded my space, too, plopping down on the ground between my feet.

While we ate, she leaned heavily against the inside of my leg, and it was all I could do to keep my knee from bouncing all over the place. She gave no indication that she intended to move after dinner, either. When Jet glanced our way, she used the hem of her robe to brush dust from my boot and then wrapped an arm around my ankle. When he canted his head in our direction, she faked a silly giggle—even though I hadn't said anything. When he turned his whole body in blatant interest, she yawned and rested her head on my thigh. Even though the first real meal I'd eaten since the farm sat warm and heavy in my stomach and the hiss and snap of the campfire lulled me, the strangely familiar weight of Katara's head set me on edge. My safety in this group depended on my ability to act like her actions were commonplace, so I let myself settle into a memory where they had been. Grounded as I was in that other time and place, I didn't even realize I'd reached for her hair until the strands were sliding through my fingers.

I popped up from my rock, letting her fall sideways onto her elbow, and all eyes immediately focused on me.

"I'm tired," I blurted out. "I'm going to find some place to sleep."

Across the circle, the Bowman and Facepaint stared intently at each other, and then Facepaint nodded. "Right." She gestured over one shoulder. "There's room in the back of Penchu's supply wagon." While Katara made our thanks, I brooded over the prospect of another night in close quarters.

The wagon was one of the shoddy gypsy coaches—a little wooden house on wheels—but instead of a door on the back end, it was covered with a heavy tarp. Katara caught up to me just as I pushed the tarp back to look inside. The faint light from the distant fires danced over the muted weave of scarves and the beaten brass of dangling wind chimes. Drums and pipe instruments, a tight wall of dolls and wicker baskets, bundles of drab green clothes, rusty farming implements, and all manner of other possessions crowded the front half of the coach in a mountain of slopes and crags and bobbing shadows. There was just enough room at the end for two people to curl on top of each other.

Katara ducked beneath my arm as I held the tarp aside and peered into the darkened interior. "I think I liked it better in Kazan's loft. At least I won't freeze, I guess." No, no chance of that. I wasn't sure how I'd keep from suffocating her with my body heat in the tiny space.

I climbed in after her, fastening the tarp behind me to block out the chill. When I turned back around, blinding pain lit in my skull as we cracked our heads together. She lurched backward, slipped on a dark stack of what looked like rolled bamboo mats, and drew her arms over her head as items rained down on top of her. She flailed beneath the avalanche, shoving things off only to have them fall right back down.

Heap by heap, I dragged away satchels, boxes, and other loose things my clumsy fingers couldn't name, but her thrashing just dislodged them again. "Be still. You're only making it worse."

Beneath the onslaught of vengeful items, I heard her hiccup. "This is all your fault. If you hadn't—"

"What?" I let everything crash back onto her. "Gotten in the wagon? Gone along with your story for Jet? Shoved you down the hill to dig that wagon out of the mud when we could have just gone east?" I shook my head and wrenched a folding room divider from one side of the pile and used it to brace the top half. I stacked things on top of it until Katara could move to the back of the wagon.

While I stuffed a rumpled up awning into a darker spot I decided was a hole, she complained behind me. "I don't know how we're going to do this."

I slowly pulled my hands away from the wall of sundry, waiting to press back against it if anything started to fall out again. It seemed solid enough, so I turned and angled myself between the adjoining wagon walls, arching up out of the way as much as I could.

"Just get comfortable. I'll make myself fit around you."

She shook her head as if that's not what she'd meant but then unrolled a fallen carpet and smoothed it out on the floor. "At least it's not the ground tonight."

I shifted my feet as she stretched out, hunching up again when her toes brushed the precarious mountain of stuff. When she finally settled, I lowered myself down behind her. A wooden totem shaped like a fish on my side of the wagon forced me to press against her back, and to save space, I slipped an arm beneath her head and let the other fall across her torso. She shot up like a Fire Nation salute on parade day.

"What?"

I couldn't read her expression in the darkness, but I thought I heard hesitation in her voice. "I don't want you on me tonight."

With a sigh I hoped sounded more beleaguered than disappointed, I withdrew my arms and turned my back to her, awkwardly hugging the fish instead.

She lay back down, but there wasn't enough room for us to both sleep with our knees bent in opposite directions. She squirmed and grinded the back of her hips against mine. "This isn't going to work."

I dug my fingers into the totem, likely searing new scales into its carving. "I only have two sides. You can have my arms or my back. Pick one."

She thrashed around and ended up with her front to my back, her knees hooked behind mine. I rolled slightly, giving her more surface lie on. After a few moments, she finally relaxed her rigid posture and settled against my back. Silence descended on the coach, and I closed my eyes. She shook with a bitter chuckle.

"What now?"

"The space between your shoulder blades is the exact same size as my head."

"Well, the next time you get married, pick a guy with smaller shoulders."

She laughed, genuinely this time. "I guess you're right. I got us into the mess this time."

Her admission dissolved my tension, and I took a deep breath. Warmth settled between us, giving rise to the subtle scents I associated with Katara, and my mind returned to those moments I had held her by the fire. "What did he do?"

"Who?"

"Jet. I've never seen you that angry with anyone, not even me—not even the night you bludgeoned me and escaped the ship."

"I nicked you," she murmured.

My fingers brushed the flaking scab above my eyebrow. "You attacked me with my own blood."

I could feel Katara gathering the fabric of my robe between her fingers. "You never lied to me."

"No."

"That's the reason I've never been that angry with you. You never lied. Jet used us—all of us, even Aang—to help him wipe out a village the Fire Nation controlled. The only reason the villagers survived was because Sokka was never fooled. He figured it out and evacuated the village. I left Jet frozen to a tree."

I was surprised that was all she did to him. It would have been humiliating enough for Katara to know someone had gotten the better of her—but to make her precious _Avatar_ party to such a monstrous thing…. If not for her brother, would it have broken her to have him tainted by the deaths of so many? Yes, I decided. He was her paragon of virtue—the last, great ideal in a war-torn world she would gladly give her life to protect. Someone for whom she would willingly sacrifice everything she was, just to keep him out of my hands.

"You're using me, too," she added, "but at least you're honest about it."

"Thank you." My brow furrowed. "For telling me, I mean."

She nodded against my back, and I burrowed down into the thick weave of the rug. Sleep was slow in coming, though. Katara had trusted Jet, and Jet had betrayed her. Now, he was asking for a second chance, and she would give it to him; I knew that. But I hadn't changed. I hadn't recanted my course of action. I was still very openly the villain as far as she was concerned. And after I struck, there would be no second chances for me, no forgiveness, and no matter what I did—because I would lose something unbearable either way—no childish happy endings.

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You might notice that something is missing here. I got more than a few PMs and reviews after the last chapter, noting that some people didn't really appreciate half the chapter being taken up by review responses. At the same time, I've gotten several comments from people who like to read the responses. To better maintain review responses, facilitate stalking for updates, and (ignoring the blatant narcissism) provide a venue for more frequent communication, I have established a LiveJournal community for this fic. It's located at (remove the spaces):

http : / a-complex-brew . livejournal . com /

I also have this link on my profile, but it's similarly spaced because FF has disabled profile links for the time being. Right now, the community is open to everyone, but I'll have to see how that goes. Setting will be changed as the need arises.

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